Playing with Fire
by julieanne2012
Summary: Sequel to Against it All. John is dead, sacrificing himself to save Dean. Liz is the only one who knows this and promised not to tell Sam and Dean. But his death could very well tear the Winchesters apart as they prepare to face off against Azazel.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: Hello lovelies! This is the next installment of The Liz Winchester Chronicles. It's a direct sequel to Against it All and those new to my daughter-fic-verse thing, I recommend reading that first because. Although it follows the series, I do change it up a bit since Liz is involved._

_Also, this chapter is more like a "the road so far" deal where I summarize what happened in Against it All. I should have chapter two, which is the actual story, up sometime next week. For some reason, this is rather hard to write._

_So, on with the second installment of The Liz Winchester Chronicles, Playing with Fire!_

**Chapter I - Prologue**

My life wasn't always this screwed up. I used to be normal—well, _more_ normal than I am now. The only things I used to worry about were grades, friend troubles and the occasional disciplinary actions after I do something stupid. It all seems so trivial now after what I've been through in the last year.

It was hard to figure out when life as I knew it ended. It could've happened thirty years ago when my grandma was killed—burned on the ceiling in my dad's nursery. Well, that's how my Dad's life changed. Since then, Grandpa dragged him and his older brother, my Uncle Dean, around the country in search of the damn thing that killed her. Dad got out. He went to college even though Grandpa told him that if he left that he was out of the family. Dad fell in love with Mom. They both got drunk and did the deed. About nine months later, here I come, ruining their lives forever. But, you know, it's not like I had a choice in the matter. It's not like they verbally believe me, but I put a hitch in their future plans. It's easy to tell that they question what if sometimes.

Anyway, long story short, I'm here. Our little, happy family. Dad got normal for about thirteen years and it all abruptly ended when Uncle Dean came barging into our apartment on Halloween. It was quite comical. I hit him in the face with hairspray and Lily was quite freaked out. Well, it was comical until we found out the real reason why Uncle Dean was there. At the time, I was convinced that Grandpa hadn't been home in a few days. But when Uncle Dean mentioned that he was on a "hunting trip", something changed in Dad. At the time, I had no clue what. Of course, I soon learn that this was no ordinary hunting trip. By hunting, they didn't mean deer or turkey hunting—but monster hunting.

So, Dad packed up and went with Uncle Dean to find Grandpa. I didn't know all the details about what that weekend included. But I know that Dad had come home late Sunday night to the worst thing that could possibly happen to us.

It was odd really. I didn't know Dad's past at the time, so I had no clue what was going on when I heard (well, more like felt, but I'll get to that whole thing later) my mom screaming. I ran into her bedroom where she was pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from her abdomen…dead.

It was the same thing that killed Grandma. But, I was the only one living who saw the thing. It was a demon (again, didn't know he was a demon, but I figure that you already figured that one out) with glowing yellow-eyes. He said that killing Mom was important for his plans for Dad and I to move forward.

The yellow-eyed freak mentally pinned me to the walls (which was odd, looking back, since demons can't mentally move me anymore) and I couldn't do anything as Dad walked in. The moment Dad noticed Mom pinned to the ceiling, fire erupted around her. It took Uncle Dean to coax Dad away from the burning room.

And that is how I found out about the supernatural.

Since then, I was dragged around the country fighting monsters and searching for the thing that killed Grandma and Mom. Well, _they _fought monsters. I was stuck in a questionable motel room with my schoolwork and wondering if I will even see them again.

Of course, even when I was in a motel room, I was rarely far from the action. I have this psychic ability to mind-rape people (Uncle Dean's words, not mine), particularly Dad and Uncle Dean. I found out a lot of useful information because of it, like Dad questioning whether it would be best to keep dragging me along like this. I also witnessed some stuff that I'd rather not see ever again, like Uncle Dean almost getting it on with someone.

As I continued to mind-rape people, Dad also got a psychic ability. He could see the future. He saw Mom getting killed a few days before it happened and he also saw someone being killed in his and Uncle Dean's old house in Lawrence, Kansas—where this whole thing started.

The creepy thing is, we have no clue why the two of us have these powers—sorry, abilities. But, we aren't the only ones. Dad had a vision about a man being killed by being locked in a garage with his car running. Of course, the police thought it was suicide, but we knew better. It was murder by a freaky being.

We eventually figured out that it was Max doing all the killing. He has the power of telekinesis. And we also figured out how he was connected to us: his mom was killed the same way Grandma and Mom were. This discovery changed things drastically. There were others like us—our families weren't the only ones to suffer because of that damn demon.

It was a few weeks later that we ran into Grandpa in Chicago. He said that he was getting close to finding the thing that caused our lives so much misery. Dad insisted that we work as a family. Grandpa immediately dismissed that and ran off without us.

Of course, that didn't last long.

An older hunter friend of Grandpa's was murdered by vampires. Grandpa wanted what the vampires took: a Colt. Well, _the_ Colt—the Colt that can kill anything. And by anything, I mean _anything_! The plan was to get the Colt and kill the demon that killed Mom and Grandma.

Thanks to Dad's premonitions, he figured out where the yellow-eyed demon was going to hit next. We had a plan to kill the damn thing that night (not that Grandpa was too happy to find out that Dad and I had psychic abilities). Of course, our Winchester bad luck kicked in. Meg, someone who we thought that we killed, was back from the dead and wanted the Colt.

So, Grandpa came up with the stupidest plan of the century: buy a lookalike Colt and give that to Meg while Dad and Uncle Dean use the real Colt to kill the demon. Grandpa had to go alone, but I disobeyed Dad (who told me to stay in the motel room while all this shit went down) and tagged along. It was a good thing that I came along. I saved his ass when Meg and another demon figured out that the Colt wasn't real. Although, we were kidnapped in the end.

I woke up in a strange apartment. Grandpa was drugged up and tied to the bed. Dad and Uncle Dean had somehow found us and saved our asses. Of course, little did we know that Grandpa was actually possessed by the yellow-eyed demon. We had made it to a secluded cabin in the woods before we realized this.

There was an epic fight. The demon taunted us and threatened to kill us. We didn't find out much more than we had already figured out. He was mostly pissed that we killed his children. I tried to use the Colt to kill him, but I didn't have the guts. I just stood there and listened to his taunting. Eventually, Grandpa pushed his way to the surface and was able to suppress the demon long enough for Dad to shoot him in the leg. The demon escaped then, leaving Grandpa's crumpled body.

The last thing I remember of this whole thing was Dad driving Dad, Uncle Dean and I to the hospital. I think something crashed into us, but I was already completely out of it by that point that I didn't know left from right.

So, yeah, normal is no longer in my vocabulary. I'm as far from normal as a person could ever get. But, this is my life now—whether I like it or not, there is no escaping fate.


	2. Knocking

_Author's Note: Hello again. So, this is the official start of **Playing with Fire**. It might seem a little spastic, but there is just a lot going on—much like there was a lot going on in the episode. Thank you all again for being patient! _

**Chapter II - Knocking**

I stared incredulously at my mother. She was much more beautiful than she ever was in life—one might even say that she was glowing. She smiled down at me, as if waiting for a response.

"Am I…am I dead?" I asked her. Even after I said it, it seemed surreal as if life was unattainable right now. It scared me—really, truly scared me. There was so much stuff going on that I couldn't leave now and leave it all unfinished.

"I didn't say you were dead," Mom said, pulling me into a gentle hug. It felt nice being in my mom's arms again. I took it for granted when she was alive. I didn't realize it until this moment that I missed it so much. Puddles began to form around my eyes and it took every fiber of my being not to let any of them fall. "I just said you were safe."

"From what?" I asked her, my voice muffled because of her dress, made of the purest white silk that I have ever seen. It was so white, it was almost blinding.

"Safe," Mom simply put. "Safe from that monster. You are in good hands, Liz."

We were silent for the longest time. We just held each other, afraid that if we let go then the other would disappear forever. Even though I tried not to, the tears fell down my cheek and dampened Mom's beautiful dress.

"Hey Mom," I said, breaking the silence.

"Yes."

"Am I dreaming? Is any of it real?"

Mom pushed me back so that she could look me in the eye. "It's as real as you want it to be."

I didn't know how real I wanted it to be. Part of me wanted this to be the reality. It's nice and calm. But the other part knows that this shouldn't be real and that I needed to get back.

I clung on to Mom, relaxing into the moments that could be our last together. We just stood there, mother and daughter That is, until I felt something tugging at my ankle. I looked down, but there was absolutely nothing there. The tugging still continued.

"It's time," Mom said, releasing me from her hold. She stepped back and my fingertips brushed her hand as I began to fall.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The smell of antiseptic was the first thing I noticed. It stung my nostrils and it made my stomach back flip. I felt weak and dizzy and every pound of my heart made my ever growing headache worse.

I tried to open my eyes, but the lights were too bright. Even when I merely squinted, I couldn't stand it. The darkness was too nice—inviting even. I tried to descend into the darkness, but voice wafting into the room distracted me.

"I'm telling you, she is not being abused."

"Mr. Winchester, Mary sustained injuries prior to the car accident. There are signs of choking on her neck and her face is covered in bruises and scars. How do you explain those?"

"I'm telling you, that's why we were in the car. A man broke into the cabin we were staying in for the weekend. He shot my father in the leg, hit my brother over the head with the chair and tried to choke my daughter.

"And where we you during all of this?"

"I went to the grocery store to buy food for dinner. When I got back, the perpetrator was in there. I pulled him off my daughter and proceeded to take them to the hospital."

"Why didn't you call 9-1-1 and notify the police?"

"Because I panicked, okay. I freaked out and thought it was best that I drove them to the hospital. My head wasn't in the right place, I guess."

But…but that's not how the whole thing went at all. I remember the yellow-eyed demon who possessed Grandpa and he tried to kill us. I remember holding the Colt—which is supposed to be able to kill anything—and not having the guts to shoot the damn thing…although it was in Grandpa's body. And then Uncle Dean bleeding out and Dad shooting Grandpa in the leg and then the car and then…well, this.

Whatever _this_ is.

"Look, can we finish this up later?" Dad asked. "I need to check on my family."

"Alright, Mr. Winchester. We'll be in touch."

I heard footsteps clanking away. I forced my eyes open and saw Dad standing in the doorway. He looked haggard with cuts along his face and one of his wrists was tightly wrapped up. He had a cup of coffee in his hands and a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey there, sleepy head," he said, stepping into the room. Okay, so I figured out that I was in the hospital. Where exactly, I had no idea. "How you feeling?"

I thought for a moment. It took a while for my mouth to say what my mind was thinking. I could think perfectly clearly, but trying to force myself to move just sounded like too much work at the moment.

"Uh…weird, mostly, I guess…nothing hurts it just feels…weird."

Dad chuckled slightly, but it was halfhearted, like his smile. "It's probably the drugs. I think they overestimated your weight and gave you a little too much."

I sighed deeply. "I can't believe…people would actually want to…ugh, feel like this."

Silence fell between us. Dad walked into the room and stood by my bed. He grabbed my hand and rubbed his thumb over my rough skin. I could feel it—sort of. I could tell that he was touching me, I just couldn't tell what kind of feeling it was.

Note to self: never use drugs.

"So…where's everyone else?" I asked, not meeting Dad's eyes. I still felt bad about what happened last night (or, whenever that damn demon possessed Grandpa), but I knew this wasn't the time or place to deal with what happened.

"Grandpa should be waking up soon. But, Dean…"

My heart sank. That did not sound good. Not good at all. I began to panic and I was pretty sure my blood pressure was starting to rise. "What's going on with Uncle Dean?"

Dad sighed, delaying what he was going to say. "He's…he's in a coma and the doctors don't think he is going to wake up."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The doctor came in to check on me. Apparently I have a sprained ankle, a decent bump on my head and numerous cuts and bruises on my body. A few of my older bruises were fading—even a few were ugly yellow splotches. What the doctor was worried about was the bruising around my neck. They apparently did x-rays that proved that there was no internal damage. The doctor kept going on about how lucky I was. But I didn't pay attention to any of it really. In fact, my mind was sort of blank.

"We encourage you to walk around a bit," the doctor said (I think he said his name was Dr. Cray). "I'll have the nurse bring in some crutches. I don't want you putting too much pressure on that ankle of yours."

I barely heard any of it. My mind barely processed what he was saying. _Encourage you to walk around…_ He was giving me a chance to see what the hell was going on. Too bad it was probably too little too late.

After getting a crash-course in how to use crutches (as if they were so freaking difficult), the doctors pretty much left me to my own devices as long as I don't walk around too much and I get plenty of rest.

But I had ninety-nine problems to deal with and my well-being ain't one of them.

I was supposed to wait for Dad to come with me so I had someone to help me since I was hooked up to an IV. But, as usual, I didn't listen to the order. I unhooked it from my arm (the doc said that it was for controlled doses of pain medicine). I awkwardly stepped out of my room. Directly at the end of the hallway, Uncle Dean stood. He watched me with a confused look on his face. We were the only ones in the hallway. I was surprised that he didn't come into my room like Dad had.

"Hey!" I called, hobbling towards him. "I thought Dad said you were in a coma."

Uncle Dean just stared at me for a few seconds. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, as if he couldn't seem to say anything. "Uh…you can see me?"

I snorted. "Uh, yeah. What is this? Twenty questions? Of course I can see you."

"Well, that's odd. Since no one else can."

I was stunned by his words. "Wait…so, you're still in that coma, but…"

"_But_, I'm walking, talking and invisible to everyone but you."

I leaned against the wall, trying to process this whole thing. "Not even Dad can see you."

Uncle Dean nodded. "I dunno, maybe it's one of your abilities since you and Sam don't exactly have the same ones."

Well, that much was true. "Look, don't worry. We'll figure this out and get you back into your body or something like that."

"How come this sounds like a crappy plotline to a made-for-TV movie?"

"Because it probably is," I said.

"What probably is?" Dad asked, appearing from around the corner. He stood next to Uncle Dean, but didn't acknowledge his presence since, you know, he can't see him. "Who are you even talking to?"

"Nobody," I said. "Actually, I—"

"Don't tell Sam."

"What?"

"What, Liz?"

Okay, way too much crap is going on right now. "I was just going to say that I was thirsty. That's all."

Now I had Dad who was looking at me as if I were mental. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Liz?"

"Just because I said that I was thirsty, doesn't mean—"

"Not what I meant," Dad said. "You're eyes just keep shifting as if you were looking at something." He motioned to the space that was theoretically occupied by Uncle Dean. His waving arm went right through Uncle Dean's midsection. I've seen it before in movies about ghosts, but seeing it in real life made me feel queasy. "But there is nothing here."

"I guess I'm just out of it," I said.

Dad nodded. "Look, why don't you head back to your room. I'll bring you back a glass of water or something."

"The doctor said that I should move around," I said, defiantly.

"Just go with it," Uncle Dean said. "We need to strategize anyway. There's something after me and, God help me, but you're the only one who can help me."

I held my tongue before I asked him a question that would make me look like I was talking to nothing in Dad's eyes—or ears, I guess.

Before Dad said something, I said, "Fine. I'll head back to my room. As long as you bring me a Coke."

Dad rolled his eyes. "Water would be healthier for you right now."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I laid on the uncomfortable hospital bed with a thin sheet covering my legs. Uncle Dean sat in a chair by the window, his head in his hands. He looked ten years older than the last time I saw him. It's weird how being a ghost when their body is comatose can change a person.

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "do you know what's after you?"

"A reaper, I think."

"Like the reaper back in Nebraska that that crazy bitch was controlling?"

"No, this one seemed different. It hovered over my body and all sort of machines were going off. I pulled the thing away from my body and it just disappeared. The machines went back to the normal and I am still alive…ish."

"So, you're knocking on death's door," I said. "Do you think that, if you keep that reaper away from you long enough that you might wake up—in your body, I mean."

Uncle Dean shrugged. "I have no idea what to think right now."

"Hello there, Mary," a nurse said, stepping into my room. She had a clipboard in her hand and sifted though the papers clipped to it. I was about to correct her that I go by Liz, but she gasped. "Now, how did you get out of that IV?"

I remained silent as she poked and prodded me until she got the IV hooked back up again. "You better leave it in, this time." She marked something on her chart and then continued on. "I'm just going to check your vitals. Is one of your parents around?"

"Uh…my Dad should be around here somewhere," I said.

The nurse nodded. "Alrighty then, I can talk to him later. There are a couple people who want to talk to him."

"Who wants to talk to him?" I asked. My eyes shifted to Uncle Dean, who looked as worried as I felt.

"Oh, nothing to worry your pretty little head about." After checking my temp, pulse and other boring procedures, she wrote them on the chart and said, "Well, other than your injuries, you are pretty healthy. I'm sure you'll be outta here in no time."

The nurse left. "So," I turned back towards Uncle Dean, "what the hell are we going to do?"

"I dunno," Uncle Dean said, abruptly standing up. "But, right now, I'm going to check on the bozos that want to talk to Sam. I have a bad feeling about them." Uncle Dean stormed out and disappeared from view.

"Okay, thanks for nothing," I muttered, falling back onto my pillow. My thoughts swirled around Uncle Dean's predicament. My mind wandered into thinking about a future where Uncle Dean was going to die. I tried to escape from thinking that, but it continued. It was scary, really. I'm sure that Dad and Grandpa will fight all the time and both of them would be even more reckless without Uncle Dean there to calm their asses. It really, truly scared me.

"Hey Liz," Dad said, stepping into my room. He had a Coke and a water in his hands and he placed them both down on the tray next to my bed. "Listen, you grandpa wants me to get the Impala before the guys at the tow place stumble upon our stash of semi-legal weapons."

"What do you mean by semi-legal?"

"Well, they aren't illegal in this country, but we didn't go through the legal process to get them. Dean calls them that, mostly." At the mention of Uncle Dean, his expression darkened. Apparently things are not looking good in that department. If we just figure out this reaper situation, Uncle Dean should be as good as new—or, close to new, I guess.

"When will you be back?" I asked, trying to push him past whatever this was.

"In a couple hours," Dad said. "I need to take the Impala to a friend of ours who can help us fix it."

I narrowed my eyes. "Is this friend a hunter as well?"

Dad nodded. "It's the only kind of friend your grandpa knows how to get."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I was bored out of my wits. I tried watching TV, but there was nothing on except for stupid daytime TV. I took a few sips of the water but left the Coke untouched. The thought of eating or drinking made me feel sick. It was hard to tell if it was because of the crap we were in or from the drugs.

"So," I said, "any idea what those people want?" I sensed Uncle Dean at the door. He had a different feeling to him then other people had.

"They're the friggin CPS!" he cried, barging into my room.

My heart sank. "Wait…Child Protective Service. Why the hell would they want to talk to Dad?"

"Probably because of your questionable bruises," Uncle Dean muttered. "But, that's not important right now. We need to figure out this reaper business."

"Okay, but how can we stop a reaper? I mean, it's not like we can kill Death."

"I don't think reapers are actually Death. I think they…work for Death."

I didn't want to think about it, but it is possible that there is just no avoiding the reaper. If it was Uncle Dean's time, it was Uncle Dean's time. Even so, I was not going to make that an option. No way in hell.

"Look, we can figure this out," I said, crawling out of the bed. "There is a chance that you could still pull through."

Uncle Dean nodded. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

Despite the nurse's warning, I unhooked myself from the IV again. I followed Uncle Dean out of the room and crashed right into a professional looking woman. Of course, Uncle Dean just went right through her.

"You must be Mary Winchester," the woman said. Already I didn't like her. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun that looked like it was yanking the hair right off her head. She wore a business suit, right down to the briefcase.

"Who wants to know?" I asked, getting defensive. She wasn't a doctor, I can tell that much. But I had a sinking feeling that I know where this woman is coming from.

"My name is Linda Lee and I am from Child Protective Services. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."


	3. Jumpstart

_Author's Note: I know I sound like a broken record for saying sorry about the lateness of this update. Between two essays do for College Prep and actually having homework this semester, I haven't had time to write. Although, with cheerleading over with and a couple weeks until I am needed for the musical, I should have more time to actually work on this and have more frequent updates._

_Author's Note 2: I'd also like to state that all my medical knowledge comes from watching way too much _House _and _Grey's Anatomy_. I also have no idea how CPS works so I am just making it up as I go along._

**Chapter III - Jumpstart**

"Shouldn't my dad be present or something?" I've seen enough cop shows in my life to know how these sort of things go down.

"It's only a few questions," Lee said. "Also, it's best that he is not present when I ask you these things. You might answer different if he was around."

I did not like the sound of this. I did not like the sound of this at all. I didn't know what to do. If I complied, they could twist my words and make it sound like Dad is abusing me. If I don't comply, then they'll think that I have something to hide. Either way, it's a lose-lose situation.

"Fine," I said, heading back onto my bed. Lee followed me and sat down in the seat that is usually occupied by either Dad or Uncle Dean. I haven't even seen Grandpa yet.

"So, would you like to tell me how you got all these bruises?"

"I'm an outdoorsy kind of kid," I lied, making it up as a go along. "I like to climb trees and play sports and stuff. I guess you could say that I'm a normal kid."

"Now, what about the bruising on your neck," Lee noted. "The doctor says that they are too old to be from when the attacker broke into your house." She made it sound like she didn't believe Dad's story.

Dammit. "Uh, well…maybe the doctor got it wrong. They're not one-hundred-percent reliable, you know."

I mentally slapped myself. That was a stupid move on my part. I am so not helping things. Maybe I should have strategized my lies instead of just winging it. I should learn by now that just rolling with the punches is never going to work in my favor.

"Well, let's assume that the doctor is right—which I am sure he is. How did you get those bruises, Mary?"

"I prefer Liz," I said, my mouth automatically relaying what I usually say to people who call me Mary.

"You're avoiding the question," Lee put bluntly.

"Fine! God, they're hickies!" Wow, where did that one come from?

Lee studied my face, as if that'll help figure out if I am lying or not. I kept my expression blank hoping that I didn't give anything away.

"Does your father know that?" Lee asked, writing something down. It was hard to tell if she believed me or was just going along with it to see if something doesn't line up.

"No," I said. "It's not like I get kinky with my boyfriend around him." Well, that much was true…not that I have _ever_ had a boyfriend or anything. Hell, the closest thing I have ever gotten to a kiss when a bunch of us played spin-the-bottle while waiting for musical practice to start. Stupid Joey Peyton!

"Okay Mary, I'm going to be blunt with you," she said, leaning closer towards my bed. "Is your father abusing you?"

I sucked in my breath. So, this is what this whole thing is about. This crazy bitch thinks that Dad—MY dad—is abusing me. "No, he is!" I cried, defensively.

"You don't have to be scared to tell me," she said. "We can protect you."

"I. Do not. Need. _Protecting!_" I growled. "My dad is not abusing me!"

"But all the old cuts and bruises—"

"Good grief, woman, my life is not some Sarah Dessen novel!" I was full-on shouting now. What can I say? I was pissed off—royally. I mean, where does she get off being this accusatory? Who honestly cares about me?

"This is a very serious matter, Mary."

"If there was a matter to be serious about, I would agree with you. But there isn't so leave me and my family alone!"

"What is going on in here?"

Lee and I looked towards the door. The nurse from earlier stood at the threshold, surveying the situation. She looked livid and I couldn't figure out why.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the nurse said, addressing Lee. "My patient needs rest and you are preventing that."

"I just have a few more questions for Mary," Lee argued, hip cocked and hands in fists. It was obvious that she wasn't going to back down without a fight.

The nurse gave Lee a murderous stare. "I believe she prefers Liz and, if you don't mind, I have to check her vitals and she needs to meet with her doctor afterwards."

Lee looked back towards me. I gave her a wicked smile. She scoffed and turned back to the nurse. "Fine. Please let me know when _Mary_ is done. I need to get to the bottom of this."

With a sigh, Lee stomped out of the room. The nurse rolled her eyes and walked back to my bed. She leaned against it and looked at me, "Is your daddy abusing you."

"No," I growled, sick of people asking me that.

"I can tell you're telling the truth," she said. "After all, it's my job to tell." The nurse looked at my dangling IV and sighed. "You really need to stop pulling this thing out."

"Yeah, I know."

She hooked me back up for the second time. If only there was a way to juggle my crutches on the stupid IV thing.

"You're doctor should be back in to talk to you," she said. "And I'm Nurse Jackie by the way. And, yes, I know. There is a TV show called _Nurse Jackie_. Do not remind me."

She left and I expected Uncle Dean to reappear so I can help him. But he never showed up. I considered sitting here and wait for him, but I couldn't sit still any longer. I stood up from my bed and used a crutch to help balance the side with the bad ankle. I grabbed the metallic bar to the IV machine. It was rather awkward, but I manage to hobble along with the IV machine in tow. Why the hell didn't I think of this earlier?

So, a trip up the elevator and a few wrong turns later, I found the regular ICU. The next difficult step was going to find Grandpa's and Uncle Dean's rooms, but that was actually easier than I thought it would be.

"You think I wouldn't find out," Dad cried. I turned to my left and there he was, towering over Grandpa who was lying on a hospital bed. A worn duffle bag was in his hands. He glared at Grandpa murderously. Uncle Dean stood next to him, looking just as confused as I was.

"What are you talking about?" Grandpa inquired. It was an implied tone that he wasn't in the mood for whatever Dad was about to dish out.

"That stuff you made me get," Dad elaborated. "That stuff isn't to ward off a demon. You are using it to summon a demon. You're planning on bring the demon here, aren't you? You're going to have some stupid macho showdown."

"I have a plan, Sam," Grandpa said, his voice oddly cool even though his son's was escalating by the second. I've only really got to know him over the last few days, and even I—with my freaky ass psychic abilities to sense people's feelings or something of the sort—couldn't understand the workings that is John Winchester's mind.

"That is exactly my point," Dad continued, his tone rising in anger. "Dean is _dying_ and _you_ have a _plan_!"

Uncle Dean walked so he stood next to Dad. He stared down at Grandpa with bewilderment written in black and white on his face. I thought about walking (well, _hopping_) into the room, but I thought that would be pretty stupid. I'd rather not get in the middle of this right now. It wasn't my place.

"You care more about killing this demon more than you care about your own son!" Dad cried.

"Hey, hey, Sam! That's not fair—" Uncle Dean was cut off by Grandpa shouting at Dad.

"Hey, do not tell me how I feel! I am doing this for Dean!"

"_How_?" Dad demanded. "How's revenge gonna help him? You aren't thinking about anyone but yourself. It's the same damn obsession!"

"Hey guys calm—"

"I thought this was your obsession, too," John bellowed. "This demon killed your mother. The demon killed your wife. Your daughter is motherless because of it. You _begged_ me to be part of this hunt. Now if you or Liz had killed the damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would've happened."

"It was possessing you, Dad. You would've been dead too!"

"Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now."

"Shut up both of you!" Uncle Dean cried, but his voice was over shadowed by Dad's whispered threat.

"Go to hell."

There was barely a beat of silence before Grandpa was at it, his voice oddly cool this time. "I knew I shouldn't've brought you along in the first place. I knew it was a mistake!"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Uncle Dean bellowed. He jerked his arm in frustration, sending a glass of water that was on Grandpa's tray flying. It shattered on the tiled floor. Grandpa and Dad looked at it, an odd mixture of confusion and horror on their faces.

Uncle Dean looked up at me, his own face written with horror. "Dude, I had just full-on Swayze'd that mother."

I knew what I had to do. In order to keep them from asking questions, I had to do something that could get me into some huge ass trouble.

"Finally I get your attentions!"

Grandpa and Dad looked up at me. It was hard to identify their emotions. But I figured they would be pissed since, as far as they know, I had just used telekinesis—much like I had when I summoned the Colt into my hands in an attempt to kill Grandpa and the Yellow-Eyed Demon that had possessed him.

"What did you just do?" Dad asked, his voice barely above a whisper. I looked down at the glass, back up at Uncle Dean and finally settling on Dad's furry-filled eyes. I didn't even dare look at Grandpa. I was surprised that he hadn't pulled a gun out to try to kill me.

"I was trying to get your attentions," I said, forcing myself to get angry. "You didn't hear me so I guess my freaky ass powers decided to try and do it for me."

"What? Couldn't get the glass to come towards me and try to have one of the shards kill me since you failed to do it last night?"

"Hey, that isn't fair," Dad called out, the shouting match between him and Grandpa starting up again. "You can't ask Liz to kill someone especially you."

"Well, if you had trained your daughter to kill instead of just shoot to scare then we wouldn't be in this position now would we?"

I was about to say something, but my heart was lodged in my throat. It was hard to tell if it was what Grandpa had said or if it was Uncle Dean's image starting to flicker. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest. In the distance, I heard a female voice over the intercom say something. Although I couldn't understand a word of it, I knew what she was saying.

Code blue.

Uncle Dean was dying.

"It's the reaper," he groaned. I could barely hear him, his voice weak from whatever the hell was going on.

Before I knew it, I was bolting down the hallway. I had abandoned my crutch and the IV was forced out of my arm. I ignored the pain that was shooting up my injured leg. I didn't stop until I reached Uncle Dean's room. It was full of chaos as doctors and nurses ran around trying to save his failing heart.

"Clear," the doctor called. The defibrillator beeped loudly and Uncle Dean's body arched as the shock ran through his body trying to jumpstart his heart. I felt Dad behind him; his silent sobs an indication that he either had too much hope or not enough.

After a round of compressions, pushing air into his lungs with a vent and checking his vitals, the doctor called, "Clear," again and then another attempt with the defibrillator.

My stomach lurched with every sound, every movement and every failed attempt in saving Uncle Dean. But I have a feeling that these weren't the only reason why I felt like I was going to hurl. It was something else. My "Spidey-senses" were tingling and I knew there was something sinister haunting this room.

"Get the hell away from me!" Uncle Dean shouted. A chill ran down my spine and he walked right through Dad and me. I ran towards his dying body and grabbed hold of something just above him. I couldn't see it, but I knew what it was from Uncle Dean's warning.

A reaper.

"I said get back!" Uncle Dean's voice echoed as he flew back into the wall. My psychic senses on haywire faded. The overactive beeping slowed to a steady pulse and the doctors and nurses stopped trying to revive him since his body was now in a safe, catatonic state.

Relief physically flooded Dad as he relaxed the death grip he had on my shoulders. For now, he was going to be fine. Uncle Dean was fine.

Except for that goddamn reaper who wanted to drag him away from us….


	4. Barter

_Author's Note: I was hoping to update this yesterday but, instead, I am uploading it on Jensen Ackles's birthday! So, happy 34th to him and on with the show!_

**Chapter IV - Barter**

Okay, so, this situation is just plain messed up. There was no way to stop the reaper, but Uncle Dean stilled verbally promised Dad that he would, even though Dad couldn't hear any of it.

Before I could even try to sneak away, Dad grabbed my arm and practically threw me into Grandpa's room. "Sit! Now!" he commanded. Hesitantly, I obeyed, confused about what was going on. I looked at Grandpa who looked as confused as I am.

"That wasn't you who knocked over the glass, was it?" Dad asked, his voice much calmer than it was just seconds ago. When I didn't answer, he said, "It was Dean, wasn't it?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" Grandpa asked, closely watching his youngest son. I looked up at Dad whose blank expression was unwavering.

"I felt him," Dad said, "I felt Dean like he was standing right there. I don't know if it's my psychic abilities or not, but I know he is there. And if I can feel him," he looked down at me, "I'm sure you can too."

Sighing, I said, "Yes, I can see him. Yes, he was the one who knocked over the glass."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Dad asked. "Why did I tell you about keeping your abilities a secret? Don't you remember what happened last time?"

"Yes Dad, I remember," I growled. "And things have been so crazy around here that I haven't been able to get a word in edgewise." I was on a roll. There was no stopping this rampaging rhino. Every thought, every emotion poured out of my mouth at an alarming rate. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. "I have this bitch for CPS hounding me with questions, I'm trying to help Uncle Dean stop a reaper and he you two are standing around fighting like cats and dogs."

Silence followed my words. Dad paled as he looked around the room—everywhere but at Grandpa or me. "CPS is here?"

"Who the hell called them?" Grandpa asked.

"I don't know," I said. "Some Linda Lee person is convinced that you are abusing me because of all of my old bruising. She isn't listening to me—she won't listen to me unless I tell her that you _are _abusing me, which you aren't."

"I'd rather go to hell," Dad muttered. I believed him. Despite that crap that life throws at us, I know that Dad would die before he physically hurt me. He makes Uncle Dean teach me physical combat. He claims that he would go easy on me, but I know the real reason. "But, we'll just have to convince her otherwise. Right now, we need to figure out how to save Dean." He turned towards Grandpa and gave him a stern eye. "That means you keeping your ass right there."

"I'm not leaving until we have this whole thing sorted out," Grandpa said, firmly. His tone dared anyone to challenge his loyalty.

"Good," Dad said. He started heading out of the room only to turn back to me. "Come on, Liz. We need to go find Dean."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We couldn't find Uncle Dean anywhere—well, I couldn't since Dad was already unable to do so.

"Where the hell is he?" Dad growled as we headed back towards my room. We were about to walk in when I saw Linda Lee. I stopped Dad and he picked inside, confused. "CPS," I mouthed. His face darkened in understanding.

"Yeah, she's close to cracking," Lee said into her cell phone. "By this time tomorrow, she'll be in foster care and her father arrested."

Listening to her talk made my blood boil. As it is, my little family was falling apart between Uncle Dean with a reaper on him like stink on a warthog and Dad and Grandpa at each other's throats. It seems like, for the time being, that I am the only one who is keeping this family together. Normally, that is Uncle Dean's job. How the hell did I end up with it? I better get workers comp for this.

"Go back to your grandpa's room," Dad said, his voice low and stern. I gave him a quizzical look. With a heavy sigh, he squeezed my shoulder as if touch alone would convey his concerns. "I'll deal with this CPS woman. You just go back. I'll get this whole thing straightened out."

Dad's shoulders sagged. Somehow, he looked ten years older than he did a few days ago, before the crap hit the fan. Black circles were noticeable underneath his eyes. I've haven't seen them this bad since Mom died. I would give anything to take on all this weight off his shoulders. But, I knew there was nothing I could do. I was only thirteen. How was I supposed to deal with CPS? But, at the same time, Dad had a million other things on his plate.

We were literally trapped between a rock and a hard place.

I nodded hesitantly in compliance. "Good luck, Dad. She's an unrelenting bitch."

"I really should scold you for swearing," Dad said. A smile played at his lips, contrasting the rest of his lackluster features. "But, I have a feeling that is the only way to describe her."

I reluctantly walked away from Dad—well, hobbled away. It was slow going trying to get back to Grandpa's room. And I would be lying if I said that I didn't purposefully take my time. After everything we have been through, you'd think I'd gain an ounce of trust towards this man. In a way, I had. But not enough that I was comfortable occupying the same space alone with him. In fact, the closest thing we got to that would be when I secretly went with him to trade the fake Colt. Of course, he either didn't know I was there or he was "drugged up", aka possessed by the yellow-eyed demon.

When I made it back to his room, however, his sheets were a disarrayed mess. The IV stand was abandoned and the bag that I really didn't notice before until now was gone.

That son of a bitch lied to us. He was going to summon that stupid demon. I just lost all respect for the man. I don't even want to call him Grandpa anymore. I think I am reverting back to John now.

But no matter how much I hated the man right now, there was no way I was going to let him go on this suicide mission alone. Call it Winchester stupidity—or maybe it was leftover bravery from when I first helped him without his consent—but I was not going to let Grandpa take a loner hand on this one. Even with the Colt, he didn't have the perfect Euchre hand against yellow-eyes.

However, I was still lost on how I was going to find him. It was really a matter of deduction. If I were John Winchester getting ready to face off against yellow-eyes without back-up in a civilian hospital, I would try to find a secluded place where I would not be discovered very easily. Probably like a janitor's closet or an abandoned tech room. However, I would need room to maneuver in case the fight got physical, like maybe the basement of the hospital.

So, I exited Grandpa's room and went down to the nearest elevator. The lowest level was the ground level, so I started there. I fruitlessly traveled through the business level in search of an entrance to the basement. A couple of times, I had to shake off the nurses by saying that I knew exactly where my friend's room was and didn't need their help.

After a while, I noticed how a hallway slopped slowly downwards. This must be it. Looking over my shoulders, I made sure that no one was paying attention to me and began hobbling down the hallways. When I went around the corner, I abandoned my IV stand and the crutch. I could actually go much faster without them even though pain shot up my leg with every step. But, I ignored it.

After going around a few corners, I finally made it to the end of the hallways. At the end was a bland door that matched the light-grey walls. It said "boiler room" in block lettering. I stumbled towards it, praying that Grandpa was being the dumbass that he was on the other side of the door.

Cautiously, I opened the door. Grandpa looked up at me from where he sat hunched over an odd symbol created out of what looked like blood. A bowl full of odd looking contents sat by his knees and an unlit match was held between two fingers. He glared at me with his infamous look.

"What the hell are you doing?" he queried. His face was stone-cold. I probably couldn't identify his emotions even if my psychic abilities decided to flare up just then.

Fear coursed through me. "I'm here to either stop you or help you, whichever you prefer." Why was I giving him a choice? He was going to chose a third option that I hadn't given him because, well, he was John Winchester.

"Get out of here," he demanded. He averted his gaze back to his ritual. "This is something that I have to do alone."

"Bullshit," I said. "Since you are dumb enough to go against what _you _promised to do, you might as well have back-up. Unless you would rather explain yourself to Sam. In which that can also be arranged."

"If you are going to go around throwing accusations around like its goddamn air, you might want to check your facts first."

"And what facts would that be? That you are being a selfish bastard in summoning a demon when…oh, yeah, _your son is dying_!"

"He's not dying tonight."

"Yeah, no duh, once we figure out how to stop that friggin' reaper that wants to drag him into the light." I crossed my arms, hoping that would contain whatever bravery I had left. All too quickly, it was slipping away. I could almost physically feel it.

"You are delusional. There is no stopping the reaper. It won't stop until Dean is dead. I have a plan. You just need to leave me to my work."

"Oh! And how the hell is killing this demon going to bring Dean back? Please, explain this one to me. I'd love to hear how this works."

Silence fell between us. The only noise came from the many machines around us that we keeping this hospital running. The smell of mildew hung in the air and that's when I noticed how sweltering it was in here. Perspiration ran down my back, sending odd chills down my spine. It felt like someone was constantly stabbing my ankle with a dull, rusted knife.

"I'm not going to kill it," Grandpa finally admitted. Now I was really confused. What else would he do to it? Ever since his wife died, that was the only thing he has been focused on. It was what got him out of bed in the morning. "I'm going to make a deal."

"Uh…what do you mean by deal?"

Grandpa growled. "You are so much like your father. Always asking questions. Never willing to take anything by face value."

"Well if you weren't so cryptic, we wouldn't have to play a game of twenty-questions."

"I'm not going to tell you anything beyond that," Grandpa stated plainly. "It's not my fault that you are undereducated."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I questioned. How dare he question my intelligence? I'd like to see him keep up a B+ average while living this life. But, I had a feeling that he wasn't talking about public school education. I think he is talking about the only class Winchesters know how to teach: Hunting 101.

"Maybe you should read up on demon lore," he said. "Many sources say that demons are one of the few creatures that can bring people back to life. Of course, they're demons so they won't do it out of the kindness of their hearts. They're going to want something in return."

I stared at him. What the hell would the yellow-eyed demon want from Grandpa in trade of Uncle Dean? Most likely, Grandpa already knew and probably had whatever object it was at the ready.

"What's your bargaining chip, then?"

He answered my question with silence. He wanted me to figure out this jigsaw puzzle without any assistance. Or he just wanted me to walk away and leave him be. The latter was most likely of the two choices.

It was weird really—an epiphany of sorts. It hit me like a brick wall—the answer, I mean. It was too blatantly obvious that I mentally kicked myself for not realizing it earlier.

"You're going to trade your life for his."

He simply nodded.

I gaped at him. This surprised me—really, truly surprised me. For the longest time, I thought that it was revenge that controlled his man. When, in reality, it was his boys. Maybe they were the real reason why he kept fighting all these years. He might have dragged them all over the country to stop monsters and save ungrateful people from their fate, but it was always for them.

I knew that I shouldn't let him do this. I mean, it wasn't right—even if it was for his son. But, something deep, _deep_ down didn't want to do anything about it. All thoughts of trying to either stop or help Grandpa were gone with this revelation

"You can't do that!" I found myself shouting. "Dean would kick your ass if he found out what have done."

"If you would have shot me when you had the chance I wouldn't have to do this. This is all _your_ fault."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I sat down in Uncle Dean's room in an uncomfortable plastic chair. I watched as the machines breathed for him. It was odd seeing him like this—so defenseless. He might as well regress into a three-year-old. That's all I saw in him.

A nurse came in, checked his stats and left as silently as she had come in. I wondered if Nurse Jackie needed to check on me. A part of me considered going back up to my room, but a greater part of me just wanted to sit there and just keep an eye on Uncle Dean.

"You can wake up anytime, you know," I told Uncle Dean's limp form. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my behalf that he'll just spontaneously wake up. I could hope at least. Sit here and hope—that's all I can do.

When I heard the machines going off, I thought that Uncle Dean was dying again. However, he was sitting up straight, his hands clasped over his neck as he struggled to breathe with a tube lodged into his throat.

Nurses and doctors rushed in shouting different medical terminology that went over my head like a basketball in gym class. Eventually, they got him calm. Of course, they were all completely baffled. I just sat there completely dazed. He didn't have a scratch on him. It was as if he was just magically healed.

Dad came in, looking much younger once he saw Uncle Dean alive and breathing. The doctor explained the miracle and how damn lucky Uncle Dean was.

Once the doctor left, Dad asked him the initial question: "Do you remember anything?" Uncle Dean just said that he remembered the demon attacking and then waking up here. It was hard to tell if this was a good sign or a bad one.

Brotherly shmoop followed that. I stood out of their way, not wanting to get in the middle of this bromance moment.

A knock came at the door. Grandpa stood at the threshold, looking at his two sons. Of course, he didn't look my way at all.

After Grandpa made sure that Uncle Dean was okay, Dad went off on Grandpa for disappearing (apparently I wasn't the only one who noticed). Grandpa told him that they should just quit fighting for once in their lives. Dad and Uncle Dean were shocked—I remained indifferent.

Oh-so-subtly, Grandpa hinted that Dad should go get him a coffee and that I should help him. Wordlessly, Dad walked out and I followed him. Before I passed through the door, Grandpa stopped me and whispered:

"Don't tell them."

That was the last thing he ever told me.

"Wasn't planning on it."

That was the last thing I ever told him.

A while later, Dad found Grandpa's dead body in his room. As everyone scrambled around, panicked, I just stood in the background—indifferent.


	5. Bobby

_Author's Note: For the record, I did not die. (Thanks to those who IM'ed me with their concerns). Things have been crazy for me, but I won't bore you with the details._

**Chapter V - Bobby**

Watching the pyre burn brought everything into fruition, causing the indifferent feelings that I had after Grandpa's death morph into something entirely different—grief.

The ride to one of Grandpa's old hunting buddies was a long one. Uncle Dean had hotwired a car after we were released from the hospital (according to Uncle Dean's opinion, not the doctor's).

I didn't know much about Bobby Singer other than he was a hunter and he owns a salvage yard as a cover or something. He was probably a little older than Grandpa, wearing a dingy hat and a deep frown on his face.

Without even acknowledging Bobby, Uncle Dean went right to the mangled Impala—his baby. It made me sick seeing the wreckage. No wonder things escaladed out of control as they did.

"So," Bobby said, his voice gruff and throaty, "this must be yours. Liz, is it?"

"Yeah," Dad sighed, gripping my shoulder tight. "Liz, this is Bobby. He helped your grandpa out when he first started hunting but, well…"

"Shit happens," Bobby muttered. Those two words must have summed up whatever Dad was going to say because he nodded in agreement before the three of us headed into Bobby's house. It was hard to explain this place because it was a disheveled mess, but it seemed like everything had a place amongst the dust. Immediately, I felt a tingly feeling tease my nose. I could only pray that we had Benadryl among the medical supplies we have salvaged from the Impala—which wasn't much.

"We'll only be here for a few days—until Dean gets the Impala up and running," Dad tried to explain, reassuring Bobby of our intentions.

"I dunno why he is botherin'. I don't doubt Dean's skill, but it is going to take one serious miracle to get that thing back in shape let alone runnin'. Anyway, you three stay as long as you need. I wouldn't mind the company."

Bobby walked into the kitchen that was in major need of some TLC. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed one to Dad. "Sorry darlin', don't have anythin' without alcohol in it. Unless you wanna glass a water."

"I'm good, thanks," I said. It was nothing personal, but, in a place like this, I question the quality of the water. I mean, I don't even brush my teeth with the motel water. I always use bottled water.

"The big question is…how are you handlin' everythin'?"

Dad sighed. He twisted the cap off his longneck whilst looking out the window at Uncle Dean. He was working underneath his baby, probably trying to realign the frame. I didn't know much about fixing cars so I can only speculate on what he is doing.

"It could be worse, I guess."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The next few days were sort of a blur for me (mostly from the painkillers my doctor prescribed). Uncle Dean would head outside to work on the Impala every morning and completely ignore Dad if he tried to help him—with the Impala and his grieving.

I tried to focus on homework, but I just couldn't think. Even reading and video games lost its luster. Most of the time I just sat on the couch with Dad, flipping through channels neither one of us really focusing on the less-than-captivating plots of daytime TV.

It was hard to tell what day it was. The days blended into each other until I could barely tell what year it was. One afternoon, while watching TV with Dad, I must have fallen asleep on the couch. The next thing I know, it's dark out and Dad and Uncle Dean aren't anywhere.

"Um…where are my dad and Dean?" I asked, hobbling into the kitchen. I had ditched the crutches a few days ago, but I still had my ankle wrapped up and I couldn't walk in a straight line even if my life depended on it.

"They um…an old hunter John knew called needin' some help with a job. Your daddy was gonna decline, but Dean insisted that they went and checked it out. They thought it was best that, with your ankle, that you stayed here."

My blood ran cold. Those bastards! How could they just leave me? I mean, I could just stay at the freaking motel. I barely knew Bobby but, from what I can tell, he was a good man—a damn good man for putting up with the three of us and our crazy antics.

"Your daddy wanted to wait for you to wake up to tell you, but Dean he…"

I sighed deeply. "Yeah, he probably just wanted to do something." I looked out the window. "If the Impala is still out of commission, what car did they take?"

"I gave'm a Caravan I had just fixed up."

Despite being pissed off, I laughed. That was what they get for leaving without me—a soccer-mom mobile.

"So, I was thinkin' of orderin' pizza for dinner. What do yah want on it?"

"Whatever's fine," I said, hobbling back into the living room. I turned the television off—anything to ignore the tension. I barely knew Bobby and Dad just left me with him.

"If you don't make a decision, I'm orderin' anchovies on it."

I turned to face Bobby who leaned against the entryway between the kitchen and the hallway. Dad must have warned him about how I don't like making decisions, especially if other people are involved. I am always afraid that I'd say something that they disapproved off.

"Uh…fine. Just pepperoni, then."

As Bobby went to call in the pizza, my cell phone went off. It was a text message from Dad. "I'm sorry." That was all it said. I slammed the phone shut. There was nothing I absolutely needed to say to him at this moment.

With a disgruntled sigh, I sat down on the couch and pulled my laptop and booted it up. I cringed when I checked my grades and all the missing assignments that caused my almost perfect marks to become Cs and Ds. To be honest, I haven't really had the drive to work on anything. It just seemed so frivolous compared to everything else going on right now. But I pushed myself to open the document with my latest math worksheet and it literally took all my willpower to add and subtract and whatever else I had to do to solve the problems.

"I'm gonna go pick up the pizza," Bobby announced. He shrugged on a worn, brown jacket. "Need anythin' while I'm out?"

I shook my head. "I'm good, Bobby." It was still weird saying his name. I tried calling him Mr. Singer since, you know, it's the proper way to say it. He almost beat my ass for it. Ever since, I've called him Bobby.

Bobby left and I listened as the rusty truck pulled away. I continued working on my math when his phone began going off. He had a lot of lines for various hunters (apparently he was an FBI director, one of the heads of the US Marshalls and various other government organizations). From what I could tell, it was his home line, the one he uses for his rare non-monster jobs.

I placed my laptop aside and awkwardly stood up. Wincing every time I put weight on my bad foot, I hobbled over to the phone. "Singer's Salvage," I said into the phone, dropping my voice down an octave hoping that maybe—just maybe—they'd think I was Bobby. I didn't quite hit the note, though.

"Yes, hi, I'm looking for Sam Winchester. This is Linda Lee from—"

I slammed the phone back onto the receiver. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at the phone. No way. There was no way that could be that bitch from CPS. I thought Dad had settled that bullshit.

The phone rang again. I let it continue to ring, knowing full well that it was Lee calling back. She's probably more than livid that I had hung up on her in such a violent way.

I sat back down on the couch and tried to focus on my homework. The phone rang four more times, all of which I ignored. Lee stopped calling by the time Bobby got home. I didn't tell him that she called.

"Pizza's here," he announced, walking into the kitchen. I followed him inside. Eating dinner when it was just the two of us was awkward. We both tried small talk, but it didn't last a minute before we fell back into silence.

I went to bed early that night.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

_I was in the cabin where we faced off against the yellow-eyed demon. Grandpa, who was currently possessed by said demon, stood in front of me with a menacing smile on his face. The Colt was in my hand, pointed, cocked and ready to kill._

"_You couldn't kill me. You are just a weak, pathetic little girl. You shouldn't even be considered a hunter."_

"_That's not true," I wanted to shout at him, but my voice was caught in my throat._

"_No wonder your dad and uncle left without you. They don't need someone like you screwing up the job." The gun was jerked out of my hand. Like previously, the demon mental struck me with the Colt. But, instead of falling to the ground, I was suddenly transported somewhere else._

_It was the boiler room where I went to confront Grandpa. He stood in front of me, hatred burning in his eyes. I wanted to run and continue to run until I got as far away from him as possible._

"_It's your fucking fault," Grandpa growled. "If you had just shot me when you had the chance, that damn demon would be dead and Dean wouldn't be dying. You are just a weak, pathetic little girl. You shouldn't even be considered a Winchester."_

_The scene changed again. It felt like my heart was being jerked out of my chest as I looked around at the white void. Mom stood in front of me, looking like she had in the dream I had._

"_I'm disappointed in you," she said. The sweet, kind voice she had used earlier was gone replaced with a menacing tone that was way worse than the demon's or Grandpa's. "You are just a weak, pathetic little girl. I can't believe I ever considered you my daughter."_

That's when I fell into the bed. My breathing was sporadic as I tried to calm myself. My heart was lodged in my throat and all I wanted to do was cry but I couldn't.

The sun was bright outside and I heard happy birds chirping away. The setting was far from fitting. Around me, the world was happen when all I wanted to do was start shooting everything.

I stumbled into the bathroom down the hall. The mirror reflected what should have been me, but somehow wasn't. I looked like I had just grown through a war. My hair was a mess and dark circles were prominent under my eyes. I splashed some cold water on my face and popped a couple of the pain pills my doctor prescribed. I headed down to the kitchen since I was supposed to take it with food.

The first thing I noticed was the note taped to the front door. I grabbed it and, written in Bobby's chicken scratch was: "Gone out for supplies. Shouldn't be long. Bobby."

I crumpled the paper and threw it into the nearest wastebasket. I walked into the kitchen. Plates were piled high in the sink, the pizza box from last night was still on the table and the floor looked like it never met a broom or a mop.

After eating a cold slice of pizza, I set out cleaning the kitchen. I mean, might as well do something productive and school sounded less than appetizing since I noticed earlier that I did all my math problems wrong. I tidied up the kitchen: washing the dishes, cleaning up around the counters and scrubbing the floor with an old mop that I found in the closet. I went over it twice, just for good measure.

I had just finished up when Bobby came back. He stared at the kitchen in amazement. "What the hell happened in here?"

"I cleaned it," I said sheepishly. "I figured since you had to deal with our crazy asses that I'd help out a bit."

"A bit? I haven't seen the kitchen this clean since…" Bobby tapered off. I didn't press him. It obviously was painful if someone like Bobby Singer didn't want to say it aloud.

For the next few days, Bobby and I had a system. Although conversations weren't our strong suit, it wasn't as awkward. He would do his usual business as the hunter's tech support and I would clean around the house in between doing homework and helping with the dreaded research.

Dad and Uncle Dean came home late one night. I was dead asleep on the couch—not breathing. I was in Dad's mind as the two of them walked inside. The first thing he looked at was my sleeping form.

"This is the first time she's not breathin'," Bobby said. I'm guessing that they told him, since he didn't seem too alarmed by the fact. "What was it that you called it? Mind-rape?"

"Dean came up with that one," Dad said dryly. He effortlessly picked me up. "I'll take her into the bedroom. I'm sure she is out for the night."

Bobby and Uncle Dean remained silent as Dad walked passed them. My head was propped up against his bicep. I looked comfortable and at peace even though I wasn't _breathing_.

Dad slowly put me down on the bed. He carefully pulled the covers over and tucked them under my chin like he used to when I was little.

"I'm sorry about leaving you," Dad muttered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "But, you know Uncle Dean. He complains that I'm stubborn but he can be more so sometimes." Silence abruptly followed his statement as if he were carefully considering his words. "If it helps, the hunt had to do with clowns and I know how much you _love _them." That's one thing we had in common: a loathing for clowns. I blame my babysitter, who tricked me, who was only five years old, into watching _It_.

He squeezed my shoulder and stood up. He walked out of the room, closing the door softly on his way out. He joined back up with Bobby in his study. Uncle Dean was outside working under a fog light to fix up his baby. Dad just sighed at the sight.

"Damn idjit needs to relax," Bobby muttered, pouring two shots of whiskey. Apparently they hit the hard stuff once I'm not around. "How was the hunt?"

Dad sighed, swallowing the burning liquid before he answered. "We stopped the damn thing. That was the only thing that actually went right about it. For awhile there, it seemed like Dean was back to his old, wiseass self."

"It's just gonna take some time," Bobby said, drinking his shot down as well. He poured himself another one. Dad declined. "By the way, Liz is pretty useful. She can really clean a house."

"I thought there was something different…" Dad suddenly looked at Bobby, as if a light bulb flashed on inside his head. "Wait…Liz…_cleaned your house_. Jess and I had to threaten her with no television to get her to do chores."

Bobby shrugged. "I'm not complainin' or nothin'. I was long overdue."

Dad shook his head and sat down in front of the desk. "Did that lady from CPS called?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not that I know have."

"Again, I'm sorry for using your information as a place of residency for Liz and I. But I sort of panicked. Normally I can keep a cool head, but the thought of Liz being taken away from me scares me."

Bobby nodded in understanding. "Don't worry about it. You are just tryin' to protect her. She's a damn good kid."

"Yeah, but she really does deserve more than this."

I was pushed back into my own head. The room around me was dark and full of shadows. I just laid there for a while, enjoying the warmth of the blankets. I didn't move until I heard voices wafting up through the open window. The cold air stabbed me like little needles as I through my covers off and walked towards the window. Outside, Dad and Uncle Dean were talking. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Uncle Dean looked annoyed and Dad looked desperate. A few minutes later, Dad walked back inside and left Uncle Dean alone. For a long time, Uncle Dean just stood there until he grabbed a crowbar from the pile of tools by the front of the wrecked car. With careful, deliberate swings, he smashed up the car, making it worse than it was. He broke the remaining windows and made large dents in the side that wasn't hit by a semi. He didn't stop until every inch of his baby was covered in deep marks.

When all was said and done, he threw the crowbar at his feet and grabbed the beer that was standing precariously on the toolbox. He studied the Impala and he took a long swig from the longneck.

I guess in our own weird ways, we were all healing. Me with my odd need to clean, Dad with his need to help everyone else and Uncle Dean with destroying the only thing that Grandpa probably ever gave him.


	6. Paranoid

**Chapter VI - Paranoid**

It felt good sitting in the back of the Impala again, almost like being home from an extended vacation. Of course, our little hiatus was far from a vacation, but that's beside the point. The three of us and the open road, that's all that mattered right now.

Uncle Dean spent the last few days we stayed with Bobby fixing her up after his little episode. She was as good as new (oh god, I'm starting to sound like him by calling her a lady), fresh coat of wax and everything. The two of them seem to be doing a lot better after they're little bromance moment, which was good. We were moving forward. That's all that mattered.

"Woo!" Uncle Dean shouted as he sped down the country road. On either side of us were trees and fields. We had the windows down, causing my hair to spin up like a tornado—although Dad's wasn't looking as nice either. "Listen to her purr. Have you ever heard of something as sweet?"

"You know, if you two want to get a room, Dean. Just let me know."

"Aww, don't listen to him, Baby. He doesn't understand us."

Dad snorted. "You're in a good mood."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Uncle Dean asked the rhetorical question.

"No reason," Dad answered, shrugging his shoulders.

"I think it might have something to do with getting the love of his life back on the open road after being MIA," I said, leaning against the back of the front seat. I had a feeling that Dad was going to chew me out for not wearing my belt, especially after the accident.

"Right you are, Lizzie."

"It's Liz."

"Right," Uncle Dean sighed, stretching on the _i _vowel. "I got my baby back, we got a case—things are really starting look good again."

"We get a couple of ripped off heads and a few cows slaughtered and you're Mister Sunshine," Dad said, his voice oddly carefree as if he felt the same way as Uncle Dean. Even I was excited for a job, even though I probably won't be able to touch it with a ten foot pole.

Uncle Dean just laughed at Dad's comment. "So, how far 'til Red Lodge?"

"Uh…about another three hundred miles," Dad replied, the happiness in his voice faltering. He obviously wasn't as thrilled that there was still so much distance to cover before we got there.

Uncle Dean looked absolutely ecstatic. He looked like a kid going to Disney World for the first time. "Good," he said, pressing down on the gas. He was definitely going much faster than the speed limit.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We made it to Red Lodge and immediately Dad and Uncle Dean set off to work. They dressed in nice suits and were going to pose as reporters for Weekly World News and World Weekly News or something along those lines. Naturally, I hung back since having a thirteen-year-old tag along would make things look rather suspicious.

Just like old times.

They came back and looked rather flustered. I didn't need to ask them if they got any new information—they obviously didn't.

It was a short drive to some sort of medical center. They quickly changed into medical examiners to check out the bodies in question. Again, I stayed put. Bet that one was a shocker.

As quickly as someone turning on a light bulb, I began to hear voices. A man in a business suit walked by the Impala, praying that his wife won't find out that he is sleeping with his M.A. An old woman headed inside, _it's not cancer, it's not cancer_ a mantra in her mind.

Great, my psychic abilities decided to kick in. And when I thought things were going to be normal around here. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised. Normal isn't even in my vocabulary anymore.

I'm starting to think it never was.

Dad and Uncle Dean came back, their head-voices loud in clear. Dad was thinking about vampires, since the woman who was killed ended up being one. But Uncle Dean's mind seemed to be miles away. It was weird, the ecstasy that he felt earlier was gone, replaced with something darker—more sinister.

_Dad's wrong. There's no way I can kill them. They're not evil_.

I have a feeling this was not about the vampires.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

That night, Uncle Dean pulled up to a saloon-style bar, a fine establishment (sarcasm) in town. We looked at each other before sauntering in. We were going in was to talk to some locals. The only reason why I was going in with them was because Dad and Uncle Dean figured that the townies will be more cooperative if they notice a "little girl" was in their presence. I wanted to punch Uncle Dean when he told me that.

"What can I get for yah?" the bartender asked as we bellied-up to the bar. He was a worn man with a scraggly beard that used to be blonde but was border lining on gray.

"Two beers and a coke," Uncle Dean said. The coke was obviously for me. Although, if I absolutely wanted to, I could probably order a beer and he'd give it to. But I have no desire to drink that stuff. It smells like Uncle Dean's dirty socks after they've been in the bottom of his duffle for a couple of weeks.

"We're looking for someone," Uncle Dean continued, cutting right to the chase. The bartender handed off the beers and placed the coke in front of me.

"Isn't everyone? It's hard to be lonely."

Well isn't he charming.

"Yeah, but, that's not what he meant," Dad said, pulling a fifty out of his pocket and held it out for the bartender. If I had a dime for every time they had to bribe someone for answers, I could be living like Bill Gates right now.

The bartender took the money. "So, these people moved in about six months ago. Probably real rowdy—probably drank."

"Yeah," Uncle Dean chimed in, "real night owls—sleep all day, party all night." He took a swig of the longneck.

"The Barker farm got leased out a couple months ago," the bartender said. I got the eerie feeling that someone was watching us. I looked around the room, but I didn't see anybody acting weird. Normally I would shrug it off as being paranoid, but I have learned to trust my instinct.

"Real winners," the bartender continued. "Come here a few times. Drinkers. Noisy…I've eighty-sixed them once or twice."

That's when I noticed him—a sulky, black man sitting in the back corner smoking a cigar. He was watching us closely—bordering on pedo. I quickly turned away when I noticed that he saw that I was watching him.

Did that even make sense?

"Thanks," Uncle Dean said, standing up from his perch on the bar stool. I didn't realize that this conversation was wrapped up so quickly. I followed them away from the bar and walked out the door. As we walked past the table where the creepy man sat, I saw that it was empty—a burning cigar abandoned in the ashtray.

Okay, this is definitely not paranoia.

We walked into the frigid air and shoved my hands into my sweatshirt pockets. As we meandered down the sidewalk, I felt this shiver run down my spine that definitely was not from the cold. I stopped abruptly and looked around.

"You okay, Liz?" Dad turned to face me, his face etched with concern.

I just stood there, trying to figure out why I was so panicked all of a sudden. Maybe it's just because it's my first hunt after the whole fiasco with yellow-eyes, Uncle Dean almost dying and Grandpa actually dying.

"Come on," Dad said, tugging at my sweatshirt sleeve. "Let's just keep going."

Oddly enough, I walked behind them in my usual third-wheel place behind them. We turned down an alleyway and I was about to ask why when we turned again and went towards the back of the bar we just exited from.

Dad grabbed my arm and practically shoved me into the corner of the alcove. Uncle Dean and he stood side to side in front of me, as if they were shielding me from something.

"No matter what," Dad whispered. I could barely hear him. "Stay here."

Footsteps echoed faintly as they headed our way. With each step, my body seized in anticipation—for what, I didn't know. A fight? A bloodbath? Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be pretty.

Dad and Uncle Dean launched themselves away from the alcove and attacked the man that I had seen at the bar. They threw him against the wall and, against Dad's orders, I itched my way out of the alcove to get a better look.

"Show 'em," Uncle Dean shouted menacingly. Is it just me, or does his voice actually sound more dangerous than it had before.

"What are you talking about?" the man asked. He was laughing, as if he found it hilarious that a couple of brothers jumped him in an alleyway in the middle of the night.

"Show us those pearly whites," Uncle Dean elaborated. Dad tightened pushed hard on the knife on the man's throat.

"Stop it," I cried, my mouth on autopilot as my brain struggled to keep up. "He's not a vampire."

"How the hell do you—" Dad began.

"She's right," the man said.

"What do you know about vampires?" Dad asked, not loosening the grip on his knife a pinch.

"I know how to kill 'em. Now, seriously, bro. That knife is making me itch."

The man looked like he was going to shuffle away, but Uncle Dean shoved his shoulder to show him who's boss. It must be a testosterone thing.

"Oi, easy muchacho," the man growled. He slowly reached his arm up to lift his lip and show them his gums. "See. Fangless. Happy?"

Slowly, Dad removed the knife, but neither of them relaxed. We still didn't know what this man was up to. Even though I know one-hundred percent that he isn't a vampire, he still gave me the psychic willies.

"Now, who the hell are you?"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"Sam, Dean and Liz Winchester," the man chuckled for the umpteenth time that evening. He almost seemed relieved when we told him who we were. We had moved this conversation from the alleyway to a field where the man had his car parked. In the backseat, he had a unit that pulled out to reveal many different weapons, many of which I hadn't seen, let alone able to identify.

"I worked with your old man once," he said. "He's a great guy—" are we still talking about the same John Winchester? "—one helluva hunter." He sighed. "I heard he passed. I'm sorry. Its big shoes to fill. From what I hear, you fill 'em. Great trackers—great in a tight spot. I've even heard little bit over there is turning out to be a decent hunter. Could tell I wasn't a vampire without looking in my mouth."

I glared at him. How dare he call me "little."

"You seem to know a lot about our family," Uncle Dean said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The man shrugged. "Word travels fast. You know how hunters talk."

"No, no I don't," Uncle Dean muttered. It's true. Besides, them, Grandpa, Bobby, and now this guy, the list of hunters I know wasn't very long. Then again, I have only known about this world not even a year.

"I guess there's a lot your dad never told yah," the man commented.

The four of us were so quiet; we could hear crickets surrounding us. Dad was the first one to speak up, and it, of course, was a statement that sent us straight to business.

"So, uh…those two vampires, they were yours?"

"Yep. Been here two weeks."

"And that Barker farm?"

"Just a bust. Just some hippie freaks. Although, they could kill you with that petrulli they light up."

"Then where's the nest?"

The man slid his weapons unit back into place. "I believe this is where we say ado. Now I know you fellas are great, but I've been working this thing for over a year. I killed a fang all the way back in Austin and tracked the pack all the way here. I'm finishing it."

Uncle Dean frowned. "We could help."

"Thanks." He sounded anything but thankful. "But I'm kinda offa go-it-alone kinda guy."

"Well man, I've been itching for a hunt." Dad and I turn to face Uncle Dean as if he lost his marbles.

"Sorry. But, hey! I heard theirs a chupacabra two states over. Go ahead and knock yourselves out."

He climbed into the driver's seat of his car. Throw the open window, the man called out, "It was nice meetin' yah, though. I'll buy you a drink on the flipside."

The man drove away and we watched him go. Once we could see his red car any longer, I turned to the two of them and said, "You're not going to drop this, are you?"

"Nope," they both said, simultaneously.


	7. Questioning

**Chapter VII - Questioning**

Dad and Uncle Dean located the Gordon Walker's car on the perimeter of a shipyard. They prepared their machetes and stepped out of the Impala. I leaned back into my seat with a book in my hand.

It was hard to tell if I was angry or relieved that I wasn't going to be a part of this. I used to be able to handle myself in the heat of battle—even though Dad is still convinced that I'm some weak, little girl. But, after the whole face-off with yellow-eyes, I began to question myself and my abilities. I mean, I couldn't even shoot a gun to kill the thing that caused my family so much pain.

My first instinct was to call Lily Jackson, my best friend. She learned about this messed up part of the world when her uncle was framed for murder when it really was a murderous shape shifter. After that, I was able to unload—for lack of a better term—all this crap on her and she has been able to help me out thus far. It probably helped that her late father was a psychiatrist.

But, as my fingers hovered over the "talk" button, her name highlighted on my phone, I didn't want to explain everything to her. I haven't talked to her since before Grandpa showing up in Manning, Colorado with a lead about yellow-eyes and the Colt. I would have to explain all of this to her and I didn't have the want nor the energy to do such a thing.

So, instead, I read. I read a different lifetime, wishing I could transport myself into the book. This one probably had a happy ending where the guy and the girl end up together and they stop all the crap that came flying their way. Too bad real life wasn't like that.

A few minutes later, a phone began to ring in the front seat. I recognized it as Dad's ringtone, since Uncle Dean had the chorus of "She Shook Me All Night Long" for his. I scrambled across the seat to grab it. The lit caller ID read "Lee" and my blood ran cold.

I literally threw it away from me.

Once it stopped ringing, I waited five minutes for the signal that he had a new voicemail. I typed in his code (Mom's birthday, of course) and listened to the voicemail that bitch left.

"Mr. Winchester, this is Linda Lee again reminding you of your appointment that you have rescheduled many times. If you do not make it to this next appointment I have no choice but to—" I slammed the phone shut. I did not want to hear any more of it.

Dad and Uncle Dean came back a while later. Uncle Dean had blood splattered on his face, but I knew it wasn't his.

The two of them were silent as we drove away from the peer. That's when I noticed that Walker was following us in his red car.

"Uh…what's going on?" I asked, turning towards Dad and Uncle Dean.

"He owes us a drink," Uncle Dean simply said.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"Another one bites the dust," Walker said proudly as he held his shot glass full of whiskey up. Uncle Dean held his up and they clanked them together, crying "Here, here." They both tipped back at the shots and Dad and I simply watched them as if they were a cheesy sitcom.

From what I gathered from their small talk—well, the hunter's equivalent to small talk where they discuss monsters instead of the weather—Uncle Dean chopped the head off a vampire who was trying to kill the other hunter using a saw. Which explained the odd blood splatters on his face.

"Dean," Walker chuckled, and then full on laughed for a moment, "you gave that fang one helluva haircut."

It was comments like that that led me to that conclusion.

"Thank you," bashful even though he was loving every praise given. Dad and I just kept glancing over at each other as if we were having a conversation with our facial expressions. Normally it is him and Uncle Dean having the silent discussions. But, from what I can tell, their little late night talk by the Impala didn't do as much healing of their brotherly relationship as I had hoped. After getting over being pissed at them for leaving me with Bobby, it seemed that Dad and I were on better terms—which was a good thing.

"It was beautiful," Walker continued. He was either a kiss ass or a happy drunk.

Or both.

"Well…" Uncle Dean shrugged, as if that were explanation enough. "You two okay over there?" He sipped at his third beer of the night. Dad's first was left untouched, as was my Coke. The hunter offered to sneak me a beer, but I declined. Even if I absolutely wanted it, there was no way on God's green earth that Dad would allow it.

"Yeah, fine," Dad said. I kept my mouth shut. That pretty much explained what was going on "over here."

"Come on, Lizzie, Sammy, lighten up."

"He's the only one who gets to call me that," Dad growled.

"No one gets to call me that," I muttered.

"Okay," said Walker, completely unfazed. "No offense to you guys." Thinking that was apology enough, he went on to say, "Like father, like daughter, huh?"

Uncle Dean nodded. "Yeah, it's scary how much these two are alike. Both rebellious, both don't like to follow orders. Now, if only we could do something about Liz's love for show tunes."

I wanted to punch him in the face.

"Come on; let's celebrate a job well done."

They killed one vampire. Who knows how many are left out there.

"Yeah, well, decapitations aren't my idea of a good time, I guess." I don't think he's liking the comments either.

"Oh, come on man, it wasn't like it was human. You need to have a little more fun on the job."

"See, that's what I've been trying to tell 'em," Uncle Dean agreed. "You could learn a thing or two from this guy."

"Yeah, I could," Dad said. He sighed deeply. "Look I don't want us raining down on your parade, so we're going back to the motel."

Uncle Dean rolled his temples as if the idea gave him a headache. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Dad said.

"Hey Sammy," Uncle Dean said, tossing the keys to the Impala into Dad's hands. "Remind me to beat that buzz kill outta yah later."

Without another word, the two of us left the bar.

"Can you believe them?" Dad asked as he drove to the motel. Since I was sure it was a rhetorical question, I didn't answer. "Dean is acting like it's the freaking Fourth of July when he just killed something. Now, I know we have a few beers after a hunt, but that's usually to numb the pain, not celebrate."

I pulled my jacket tighter around me. The night went from cold to even colder. I could barely feel my fingers.

"You'd think it's a good thing that he's happy," I commented. "Too bad he's happy about the wrong thing."

Dad nodded in understanding. "I just wish…that things would go back to the way they were before this shit went down."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," I said, "but I have a feeling that isn't going to happen. Not for a long, long time."

The rest of the drive to the motel was in silence. The two of us just stared out at the deserted road. My head was, however, a million miles away, wandering through time and space. I wondered what Dad meant by "before this shit went down." How far back was he talking? Before running into yellow-eyes in that cabin? Before Grandpa showed up? Before Mom died? Before Uncle Dean snuck into our apartment on Halloween?

Before I was even born?

Don't think like that, I told myself, forcing to bring my mind back to the present. Dad said time and time again that he doesn't regret having you. So, why do I feel like I am questioning it? Why do I feel like I am such a burden on Dad and Uncle Dean?

Because I am.

Once we got back to the motel, Dad told me to talk the first shower. He said that there was a call he had to make. I didn't press him for answers. He's got a lot on his plate right now and he doesn't need my teenage pestering right now. Besides, I was too tired to care.

The hot water felt good on my skin and I could just stand there for hours. But I knew that Dad (and eventually Uncle Dean, once he stumbles here) would want hot water. So, I reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, shivering.

I put on an old pair of sweatpants and a wholly sweatshirt and wrapped my long hair into the towel. I stepped out of the steamy bathroom. Dad sat on his bed, holding his cell phone to his chin, completely lost in thought. I felt like I was invading his territory or something.

"Why didn't you tell me that social worker called?" Dad inquired in a casual voice. He kept his back to me, but it felt as menacing as if he were shouting in my face.

"It sorta slipped my mind with the whole hunter drinking game going on," I said, not meaning to sound sarcastic, but that is kind of how I get when I'm on the defensive. Sarcasm is my native tongue, after all.

"You know, I need to know this, Liz. It's important."

"Look, we'll just stay on the road. It won't be any inconvenience to us."

"I told her that we live at Bobby's," Dad said. "She'll start to get suspicious if we're, you know, not there."

"She's already suspicious," I cried. "At this point she'll do anything to get me away from you."

"Exactly, which is why we need to somehow get her off our backs."

I didn't say anything. There was nothing else to say. Dad abruptly stood up, announced that he was grabbing a soda and left the motel room. I flopped down onto the couch, the towel unraveling from my hair. I stared up at the ceiling as if it were the most entertaining thing ever.

That's when I saw a man loom over me, bearing his razor sharp fangs.

The last time I saw fangs like that, I was nearly strangled to death.

Call it post-traumatic stress disorder or some other psychiatrist mumbo-jumbo, but my body seized and I began to panic—two things a hunter in a dire situation should never do. He dragged me onto the ground and my mind knew that I needed to fight, but my body wasn't cooperating.

The vampire grabbed my sweatshirt in his fists and slammed my body against the wall. I know I should feel pain, but I just felt numb.

I don't remember my dad walking in. I just saw him in the center of the room wrestling with a couple of vampires himself. One of them grabbed the phone and slammed it into his head. He fell to the ground with a heavy _thump_.

Once, twice, three times I was slammed into the wall before I was out cold.


	8. Gray

_Author's Note: I never say this enough: you guys who have read and reviewed my stories, you guys are just awesome. I sort of had a major reality check today and I just want to thank you guys so much. It's an honor that you all read my story and have given so many reviews that have helped me make my writing better. You guys are the reason I have kept up with these stories. I just love you all and I give you all virtual hugs._

_Okay, end of sappiness. I'm sorry. I'm kinda in a weird mood right now. Some of it being from tonight's episode of Supernatural._

**Chapter VIII - Gray**

I was surrounded by darkness, thanks to a sack on my head. There was a gag tied around my head to keep my silent. My hands were bound behind me and there were ropes around my midsection to keep me seated on a wooden chair.

An icy chill ran down my spine as someone—or something—pulled the sack off my head. The world blurred around me as my eyes adjusted to the sudden light. The first thing I saw was Dad sitting across from me, looking panicked. That's when I noticed the beefy guy standing there, watching me seductively.

Fang sprouted from his gums. That's when my panic really kicked in. I should be struggling to free myself from the ropes (even if it would be a futile attempt), but my body felt like it was trapped in a block of ice.

It felt like I was being choked all over again.

"ELI!" the she-vamp scowled at the man who advanced towards me. He turned sharply around to face her.

"Oh, come on, Lenore."

"We don't want to hurt you," she said, removing the bandana on Dad's mouth, and then turned towards me. As she approached, I felt a fresh wave of panic wash over me and I dug my bare heels into the floor in an attempt to get away from her. She either didn't notice or chose to ignore my repulse as she removed my gag. "We just want to talk."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to find it hard to concentrate with Eli's teeth there," Dad said, his eyes shifting between Lenore, Eli and me. Why he wanted to look at me, I had no idea. He should be disgusted at me for not putting up a fight earlier.

"He won't hurt you either," she promised, "you have my word."

"You're _word_. Oh, that's great. Look lady, you aren't the first vampire I've met."

"We're different than the others," Lenore explained. "We don't kill humans and we don't drink their blood—we haven't for a long time."

"Is this some kinda joke?"

"Notice how you and your daughter over there are still alive?"

Dad released a disgruntled sigh. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't you be starving to death?"

"We've found other ways….Cattle blood."

"Are you telling us that you're responsible for—"

"It's not ideal," the she-vamp reiterated. "In fact, it is absolutely disgusting. But it helps us get by."

"Okay, uh…why?"

"Survival. No deaths, no missing locals…no reason for people like you to come looking for us." She crossed her arms and leered at Dad, as if challenging him to come up with more questions.

I didn't know what to think right now. My first instinct is to categorize them as monsters, but, by the way they were sounding, they weren't all bad.

"Our species is nearly extinct. I guess we weren't as high up in the food chain as we thought."

"Why are you explaining ourselves to these…killers?" Eli demanded, finally saying something.

"Eli," Lenore warned again.

"We choke down cow's blood so people like him don't come snooping around. Tonight, they killed Conrad and they celebrated."

"Eli, that's enough."

"Yeah Eli, that's enough," Dad said, a mocking tone in his voice.

"What's done is done," Lenore whispered, trying to calm Eli. She turned back to Dad and said, "We are leaving this town tonight."

"Then why did you drag Liz and me here?" Dad inquired. He turned his head towards me, giving me a quizzical look. He was probably trying to figure out why I haven't said a sarcastic remark yet.

"Why are you even talking to us?" I asked. I looked over at Dad, giving him alook that said, "T_here, happy?_"

"Believe me, I'd rather not. But I know your kind. You'll keep following us and tracking us and never relenting until we are all dead."

"So, you're asking us not to follow you?" Dad said, catching on.

"We have a right to live. We aren't hurting anybody."

"Right," Dad said, not believing it for one second, "give me one good reason why I should believe you."

"Fine." Lenore leaned down, real close to Dad's face. "You know what I'm gonna do? I'm going to let you go…but I'm going to keep little cutie here as a little…incentive to make sure you get your little hunting buddies off our backs."

"NO! PLEASE!"

She ignored my pleas. "I'm sure you're willing to do _anything_ to get your daughter back." She stood up. "Take him out back and let him go. If you try any funny business, then…well," she strode over towards me, "I'll leave it up to your imagination on what we'll do to your daughter." She glided her fingers down my neck and I struggled to get away from her touch.

Two male vampires showed up to help Eli unbind Dad from the chair and drag him outside. Once the screen door slammed shut, the she-vamp turned back towards me and began to untie the ropes around me.

"I really don't want to do this," she said. My wrists were free and I messaged them to get some of the stiffness out of them. "But this is the only way to get your dad and them off our backs."

She stepped back. I was completely free. She made no motion to restrain me in any way. "You can go wherever you want in the house. We have a pretty nice set up here. It's practically just like a house, just without _your_ kind of food. Just…don't go outside. And trust me; we'll know if you do."

With that, she left and headed upstairs. I was terrified to move from the chair. My earlier assumptions were right. I fooled myself into thinking that I can go back into this hunting thing, no questions asked. But now I was a prisoner to a deadly enemy and all I wanted to do was cower in fear.

I just sat there, fighting sleep that wanted to take over me. But, after everything that happened tonight, I just wanted to crash. However, I didn't dare to try. Just because this vamp promised not to hurt me until she is convinced that Dad stopped Uncle Dean and Walker for going after them, I am still not convinced that they'll kill me just for the fun of it.

But, at the same time, if I fell asleep, there was a good chance I would mind-rape either Dad or Uncle Dean, which would help me know if Dad was able to stop them or that they were going to still go ahead and kick some vampire ass.

It really sucked not knowing if I was going to live or die in the next few hours.

I had nothing on me—no cell phone, no way of connecting to the outside world. I know the vamps didn't take anything of mine, since I didn't have it to begin with. My cell phone was still in the pocket of the jeans I had worn earlier.

Tentatively, I began to stand up. No alarms went off; no vamps came running towards me. For the most part, I was free even though I was still being held hostage. Now I understand how Princess Peach felt every time Bowser kidnapped her and depended on Mario to save her.

Being the damsel in distress sucked.

I walked into the kitchen, expecting to see someone, but it was as if everyone just…disappeared. But the vamp was right. They didn't have any human food. I also noticed the lack of knives and other cooking utensils. They either didn't want to take any chances, or realize how worthless they are…unless they like to drink cattle blood like a human eats soup.

Wow, that's an image that will forever haunt me.

"Wanna help pack?" Lenore asked, coming back down the hall with dissembled cardboard boxes in her arms. Eli was behind her, also carrying some cardboard boxes.

When I didn't reply, she added, "If you help us pack, the sooner we'll get out of your hair."

Who could argue with logic like that?

So, I grabbed a couple of boxes and Lenore told me to start packing up one of the studies. I made a beeline for the back of the house, glad to be away from them again.

I loaded the first one with heavy, leather-bound books—some of them so old and fragile that I was afraid to touch them at first. The second was shoved full of maps of different locations, random papers of identification and even some old ye olde photographs.

Once those were loaded, I didn't know what to do. There were still plenty of things to pack up, so I ventured back down the hall and into the living room to get another box or two from Lenore. When I saw her and Eli talking, with their bodies pretty much on top of each other, I ducked behind the unplugged fridge so I wouldn't be seen but I could still hear them.

"Listen Lenore," Eli said, his voice low and menacing. "We need to stay and fight."

"They were my friends, too, Eli, and family." Lenore was begging for Eli to understand. I highly doubt that she'll get anything of the reasoning sort through his thick skull.

"I don't mean that," he admonished. "This is about self-defense. Kill or be killed." In a softer voice, he said, "They can't kill us if their dead."

My blood ran cold. They couldn't do this. They promised they'd back down if we did. Maybe Uncle Dean was right. It might be better just to kill them off. But, at the same time, Dad was right in that they haven't killed anyone at this point. Then again, what's stopping them from going on a killing spree after we leave them be.

It's hard to tell what was right and what was wrong anymore.

"Killing those three won't solve anything. There's more where they came from. All we can do right now is reason with them."

"There is no reasoning with these people," Eli shouted. "They're going to kill us all anyway, we might as well take a few of them with us."

"Well what about Liz over there? She isn't a killer. I can tell."

"But if we let those three live, they'll train her to become one."

There were a few beats of silence. "I'm not giving up hope," Lenore said, her voice gentle. "They can change."

"Now, go into town and gather the others. We leave before sunrise."

I rushed back into the study before anyone could see me. I counted sixty seconds in my head and then went back out again. This time, Lenore was alone. As I stepped into the living room, she looked up at me. "Will you finish up packing these books up? I'll start taking boxes out to the truck." She didn't give any indication on if and when she was letting me go. I know they were leaving, but all I wanted to know is when I'll see my family again.

I obeyed Lenore's orders and packed up the books. By the time I was done, I heard the screen door slam shut. "Hey," I called out, closing up the box in the process, "There are a couple boxes in the study. What do you want me to do with them?"

"I should've known you'd help them escape."

A chill ran down my spine. I reluctantly turned to see Gordon Walker with Lenore limp in his arms, a dagger was protruding from her midsection and I was willing to put money down that it was coated in dead man's blood first.

"Get that rope over there," he commanded, shoving Lenore onto a dining room chair. When I didn't move, he looked up at me. "NOW!"

I shook my head, all indecisiveness was gone. I knew what was right and what was wrong now. "No," I said.

Walker gave a mocked surprised look. "No? What do you mean no?"

"No is a negative used to express refusal," I said, remembering the dictionary response I got from my crazy first grade teacher. "And I refuse to help you on this. It isn't right."

"You're like, what, eleven? Twelve? You don't know right from wrong and the right thing to do right now is help me learn where the other vamps are."

I shook my head. "That's where you're wrong."

"Don't tell me you have Stockholm Syndrome," Walker said.

"I don't," I muttered. "Just pissed off at you syndrome."

Walker walked away from Lenore and grabbed the rope I refused to get for him. "You know what you need?" he asked as he tied the rope around Lenore and the chair.

I didn't say anything as Walker pulled out a jar of dead man's blood from his pocket. He unscrewed the cap and set it down on the table. Lenore was starting to finally come to as Walker dipped the bladed end of the knife in the deep scarlet liquid.

Dramatically, he held the knife up, eye level with me. "You need a taste of the pleasure you get from hurting those who have killed. Dean was talking about how you didn't have the guts to kill the demon that caused your family so much harm."

My knees felt like they were about to buckle. This is what I wanted to avoid: having my weaknesses used against me. To make things worse, they were coming from the mouth of this asshole.

"Did he mention that John was possessed by that demon at the time?"

Walker smiled wickedly. "That shouldn't matter."

With swift movements, Walker slammed the knife onto Lenore's bare chest. She cried out in pain as her skin began to sizzle and smoke. In a blink of an eye, I was tackling Walker to the ground. Or, I should say _attempted_ to tackle Walker to the ground. It was a hundred-pound girl versus a two-hundred pound man. He didn't even move an inch. Instead, he slammed me to the ground and placed a heavy foot on my chest to keep me from moving.

"The next time I see your daddy, remind me to tell him he needs to teach you the proper attack techniques."

I tried to wiggle my way out from under his boot, but he just pressed down harder. "Isn't it about time you stopped being so difficult. No wonder they leave you in that Impala of theirs a lot. You are about as useful as a living vampire."

"What the hell are you doing?"

I have never been so relieved to hear Uncle Dean's voice before. I strained my neck to see Dad and Uncle Dean standing in the entryway between the kitchen and living room. Dad's eyes widened in horror when he saw me on the ground.

Walker moved his foot off me. I scrambled to my feet quickly and launched myself into Dad's arms. I hated how I was acting so much like a little kid right now, but I was just too damn glad at seeing Dad.

"I was just showing Liz a little technique in tackling vampires. She needs a few more lessons, it seems. But, right now," he made a cut on Lenore's upper arm, "I'm poisoning this vamp here with dead man's blood to get her to talk about where the others are." He made another cut lower on her arm. He looked up at Uncle Dean expectantly. "Wanna help?"

"Look man—"

"I was just about to get to the fingers," he added, cutting her wrist.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Uncle Dean cried. "Let's just chill for a second."

"I need to chill?"

"Just put the knife down," Dad said, making a move to push me out of the way and have a go at Walker, but Uncle Dean held him back.

"It looks like Sam here is the one who needs to chill."

"Just step away from her, alright."

Many beats of silence followed Dad's demand. Walker gave a little shrug and said, "You're right." He threw the knife down on the table. "This bitch is never going to talk," he said as he grabbed a machete from the bag that I hadn't noticed early. I would make a terrible hunter. "Might as well put her out of her misery."

I made the mistake of locking eyes with Lenore. So, I didn't one-hundred percent trust her. She still held me prisoner, although she promised to release me when she knew Dad held up his end of the bargain. I knew that I trusted Gordon Walker even less, since he is being a thick-headed idiot about this whole thing.

"I just sharpened it, so it's humane."

It was as if my mind went AWOL and my body reacted on instinct alone. One second, I was in my dad's protective arms and then next I'm advancing towards Walker a second time. Instead of a physical takedown, he held the knife in a menacing manor at my throat.

"LIZ!" Dad shouted, pulling me behind him and dangerously advanced towards Walker himself, only to make the same mistake I did and almost walk into the blade.

"What is with you two?" he asked in a low voice.

"Hey, listen Gordon, let's talk about this," Uncle Dean said.

I was taken aback. Uncle Dean actually wants to be reasonable.

"Black and white, Dean. No shades of gray."

"I hear yah," Uncle Dean admitted. "And I know how you feel."

"Do yah," Walker challenged.

"Yeah, I do. That vampire who killed your sister deserved to die, but she—"

Walker chuckled darkly. "A fang didn't kill my sister. He bit her. They turned her. Made her into one of them. So, I hunted her down and killed her myself."

I should be surprised—but I wasn't. That sounded exactly like something Gordon "Douchebag" Walker would say.

"You did what?" Uncle Dean asked, shocked. Even Dad seemed tense with surprise. Or maybe that was a vibe I was getting off him. Honestly, I never know when these stupid abilities are either on or off anymore.

"She wasn't my sister anymore—she wasn't human. I didn't even blink. And neither will you," he added, pointing the knife at both Dad and Uncle Dean. I noticed how he purposefully missed me.

"You knew all along, didn't you," Dad said, tightening his grip on my arms. "You knew they weren't killing anyone. You knew about the cattle. You just…didn't care."

"Care about what?" Walker asked, even though the answer was as obvious as the difference between night and day. "A nest of vampires suddenly acting nice—taking a little break from sucking blood from people and we are supposed to buy that. Trust me," he pointed at Lenore, "it doesn't change who they are….And I can prove it."

Walker grabbed Dad's arm and slashed him on the inside of his elbow. He pulled Dad towards the vampire, unintentionally pulled me along with him. I heard a gun being cocked and we all looked at Uncle Dean who had a pistol aimed directly between Walker's eyes.

"Let him go….NOW!"

"Relax, if I wanted him dead, he would be on the floor," Walker said. That's when I noticed the machete pressed to Dad's neck. Dad still hadn't released my arm. I don't think he realizes that he was squeezing it to death. "I'm just making a point."

I finally realized Walker's devious plan. Dad's injured arm was directly above Lenore, dripping blood down onto her face. At first, it looked like she was fighting it, but her animalistic behavior must have kicked in because she had her fangs bared and ready to kill.

"See, she isn't so different after all," Walker commented. He turned to Uncle Dean. "Do you still want to save her?" The only sound among us was Lenore's unnatural hissing sound. She sounded like a cat with a head cold. "Do you see her? An evil, bloodthirsty monster."

The fang retracted back into her gums. The hissing seized. Lenore breathed heavily as she shouted, "No," over and over again.

Dad gave Walker one of his trademark bitch faces. "You hear that, Gordon?"

Walker looked stunned. Dad effortlessly moved Walker's arm done and he slowly stepped away from the crazed hunter.

"Sam, Liz, get her out of here," Uncle Dean commanded, never relenting his stance.

"Yeah," Dad agreed. He quickly untied the ropes (Walker did a crappy job) and carried her out of the house. I followed closely behind him.

The next couple of hours before sunrise was a blur of helping Lenore get back on her feet, me patching up Dad's arm until we can have Uncle Dean give it better care and listening to Uncle Dean and Walker fight out their problems inside the house. Dad and I didn't even bother to consider helping them out. This was Uncle Dean's fight now.

Once Lenore was packed and in her truck and heading towards the others, Dad turned to me and said, "You look like crap."

I rolled my eyes. "And you look like Miss America."

"Go climb into the back of the Impala. You look like you're going to pass out on your feet."

For once, I didn't argue. I was sad that I was missing out on whatever revenge Dad and Uncle Dean were going to serve on ice to Walker and, most likely, a sappy brotherly moment that probably included a lesson embedded about the difference between right and wrong, but the backseat of the Impala never looked so inviting before.

The moment I got comfortable with my feet splayed across the seats and achy head against the cool glass, I was out.


	9. Hogwash

_Author's Note: Of course I had to bring a certain character back!_

**Chapter IX - Hogwash**

I hung back a bit, giving Dad some space. It was oddly warm in Lawrence, Kansas, even though a chill hung in the air. Dad bent over his mother's grave. It was a simple tombstone with only her name, date of birth and date of death. It was apparently placed by an uncle of Dad's and Uncle Dean's that they never met.

From my angle, I couldn't see what Dad was doing. He had his pocket knife out and he seemed to be digging a hole for some reason. He held something silver in his hands, but I couldn't tell what. "I think…I think Dad would've wanted you to have these," he said, putting the silver object into the hole and piling the dirt back onto the hole. At the time, I didn't know what it was. It was Grandpa's dog tags from the Marines.

Many different types of emotions ran through my mind—many of which, I knew, were not my own. Dad's was full of sadness and self-loathing because, not matter how many times Uncle Dean tells him, he thinks her death was his fault. I knew some of the sadness must have been my own for never getting to meet the woman I was named after, and also for my own mother. But I picked up an emotion that definitely wasn't from Dad or me: hatred. That had to be coming from Uncle Dean. He resented the idea of coming here, pushing Dad into the idea of just heading to the Roadhouse to find out anything about the demon—whatever the Roadhouse was. The only thing I couldn't tell was why he felt this way and refused to visit his mother's grave. Dad was easy—almost like reading a book. Uncle Dean was like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube while blindfolded.

The hatred soon morphed into confusion. Something was not right. I looked around for any sign of Uncle Dean. He was walking over to some dead tree. I watched him intently, trying to figure out why he would be confused by something so mundane.

"You okay, Liz?" Dad asked. Ever since the little episode in Red Lodge, he seemed to be asking me that every few minutes.

"It's Uncle Dean," I said, pointing towards him. He was now hunched over a black tag marking a new grave that was still in need of a headstone. That's when I noticed the perfect circle of dead grass surrounding him. "I think something weird is going on."

Dad sighed. "Isn't something weird always going on with us?"

He's right. Our lives were the epitome of weirdness.

A funeral director or someone of a similar title approached Uncle Dean. They talked in low voices. I couldn't hear them, but I felt Uncle Dean numbly accept the information. I looked up at Dad who was just as confused as I was.

Uncle Dean slowly approached us, looking down at a small piece of paper. The funeral director walked away in the opposite direction.

"What's that about?" Dad asked Uncle Dean.

"Angela Mason," Uncle Dean replied. "She's a student at the local college. The funeral was three days ago." He looked back down at the card, studying it intently—probably the only thing in his life that he voluntarily studied.

A beat of silence followed Uncle Dean's words. "And?" Dad prompted, glancing and him expectantly.

"And," Uncle Dean repeated, mockingly. "You saw her grave," he said, motioning behind him where the grave was located. "Everything's dead around it in a perfect circle. You don't think that's a little weird."

"Maybe the groundskeeper went a little wild on the pesticides."

"No," Uncle Dean snipped, shaking his head. "I asked him. No pesticides, no chemicals….Nobody can explain it."

"'Kay…so, what are you thinking?"

"I dunno," Uncle Dean admitted. "Unholy ground, maybe."

"Un—" Dad couldn't even finish his statement. He just chuckled at Uncle Dean's theory. Which, I don't understand why. Unholy ground sounded reasonable.

Then again, what the hell do I know?

"What?" Uncle Dean demanded. "Something could've happened there that poisoned the ground." He gave Dad a challenging look. "Do you remember the farm outside of Cedar Rapids?"

Dad nodded. "Yeah."

"It was a sign of a demonic presence. Or, it could be Angela's spirit if it's strong enough."

Dad did this weird nod and shake his head at the same time thing and then headed towards the Impala. "Well, don't get too excited. You could pull something."

"It's just…stumbling onto a hunt…here of all places…"

"_So_?"

"_So_…are you sure this isn't about a hunt and not about something else."

Dad didn't believe Uncle Dean—he thought he was just searching out something to make this little rendezvous not about visiting their mom. And then there's Uncle Dean, who wanted—no, needed—to make this worth something. Ever since the whole Gordon Walker thing, it seems like Uncle Dean was trying to find a reason to kill something. This whole thing was really starting to get weirder—and that's saying something, since this whole thing started out pretty damn weird.

"Let's just…go," Dad said, not wanting to get into it with Uncle Dean right now. He pulled the passenger door open and I took that as my cue to climb into the back.

"Believe what you want, Sammy, but you dragged my ass out here….The least we can do is check this out."

"Yep…fine," Dad finally said, sounding more like a robot than a human.

"We'll head into town. Angela's dad is a professor at the college."

Uncle Dean climbed into the Impala, annoyed with Dad. Dad climbed into the Impala, annoyed with Uncle Dean. And I climbed into the Impala feeling like the third wheel.

Yep, life is good.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I sat in the visitor parking lot of the local college, watching college students walk left and right heading to classes or to the dorms or somewhere more important than their present location. I felt so out of place here. It was almost like I was wearing a neon sign that blinked _FREAK_ in multiple colors made up of different gases.

My cell phone rang, breaking me from my daze. I looked down at my cell phone and saw that it was Missouri. Cautiously, I flipped it open and said, "Hello," into the speaker.

"Mary Elizabeth Winchester, you didn't tell me you were gonna be in town."

I rolled my eyes. That was Missouri Mosley for you. "We've only been here a couple hours," I countered, which wasn't an excuse. I could've called her when I first found out we were stopping in Lawrence.

"You could have called," Missouri said, as if she could read my mind. Wait, she could.

"How come your not berated my dad and Uncle Dean? They could have given you a ring."

"And don't worry; I'll whoop them with a wooden spoon once I get my hands on them."

I smiled. This is why I loved her so much. She was hard on everyone, especially Uncle Dean. I remember a few months ago when Dad had visions of a poltergeist in the home him and Uncle Dean used to live in before their mom was killed by the yellow-eyed demon. She helped us kill it.

"Besides, I wanted to talk to you…_alone_ and _in person_."

I sighed deeply. I was in for the ass-beating of a lifetime, I had a feeling. Hell hath no fury like a pissed of Missouri Mosley. "Fine. Their busy trying to get some info on this dead girl named Angela Mason."

"Oh, yes, I've heard of Angela. Poor girl. Killed in a car accident trying to get away from a cheating boyfriend. It's a shame, really."

"Yeah, we were at the cemetery when Uncle Dean noticed how everything around her grave was dead. He seems to think it's unholy ground, but my dad says that it is a bunch of hogwash."

"You've been reading _Harry Potter_, haven't you."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes," Missouri said. "But, Dean may be right. Maybe I should go and visit the grave. See if I _feel _anything….Did _you_ feel anything?"

I shook my head. Then I realized that she couldn't see that. "Not in the sense you're talking about. My…psychic receptors were kinda focused on those two's minds."

"We really need to talk in person," Missouri insisted. I think me talking about my weird abilities triggered something.

"Okay," I said, "I'll be their ASAP."

"Make it before then," she said. The call ended and I looked down at my main screen. I tried calling Dad's phone. I heard the familiar ringtone echo through the nearly-empty Impala. Rolling my eyes, I tried Uncle Dean. It went right to voicemail.

Using a page from my English notebook, I scribbled a note to Dad saying that I was going to Missouri's. As I placed it down on his seat, I had a flashback from the night that I had written him a note explaining how I had snuck out to help Grandpa out with his phony Colt exchange with Meg that had gone sour. No matter how many times I try to convince myself that if it weren't for me he would be dead right now and the demons would have the Colt, but I still think I am to blame of the whole plan going south—the exchange, the rescue mission, the ultimate showdown, everything.

The walk to Missouri's place wasn't a long one. I didn't have exact directions, I just sort of _new_ where I needed to go, like an internal GPS. In no time at all did I see the familiar building.

When I first walked in, I was in the waiting area where I first met Missouri. Her being nice to a client, telling him that his wife was loyal when she was actually shagging the gardener because he didn't want the truth, he just wanted to hear what he actually wanted.

It was also the first time I met someone who was willing to put Uncle Dean in his place.

"Now, Liz Winchester, you better get your butt in here and give me a hug, right now," the familiar southern drawl floated in from the office. I smiled as I stepped inside. Missouri was sitting on the couch underneath the window, sipping on a cup of tea. She set the cup down and stood up. I was so happy to see her again.

I rushed over and gave her a hug. I didn't mean to squeeze so tight, but I was just so happy to see her. Actually seeing her was better than hearing her voice on the phone. I could _feel _her. She felt trustworthy—she felt sane…which is something I really needed right now.

"Come child, sit down," Missouri said, guiding me over to the couch. That when I noticed a tea cup resting next to an old fashioned tea kettle. She poured me some tea as I sat down. "It's chamomile, it should help make you feel better."

I cautiously took a sip. I couldn't taste anything because the scalding liquid immediately burnt my tongue. Missouri settled in next to me, her tea cup left to cool.

"Now, I suggest you start talking," Missouri said. She didn't need to add an _or else_ and I threat. It was implied and you didn't want to find out if he didn't obey her command.

With a sigh, I set my tea cup down—mainly because it was burning my hands. Watching my feet like they were some sort of interesting painting in a museum, I explained to Missouri everything that happened, everything I felt over the past few weeks. It all came out in weird snip-bits of information as if my mouth just decided to puke out random facts. However, it seemed that Missouri knew what I was talking about. She probably didn't even need me to talk, but it was probably more to benefit me in some weird, psychiatric way.

"I was struggling," I said, finally getting to the part about the Colt and the ultimate fight with yellow-eyes, "I focused on the Colt in hopes that…that…I dunno, that I might be able to kill the bastard. But, once I got it—I mean, I actually got it using telekinesis—I couldn't shoot the damn thing. I just stood there like a friggin' deer in headlights."

"No one can blame you," Missouri said, finally saying something. For the last half-hour or so, it's just me and my nonstop chatter. "The demon possessed your granddaddy. No one would expect you to be able to kill, let alone kill your own grandfather."

"But he said that afterward that if it wasn't for me that I he…he wouldn't have to…."

This was the first time I was actually talking about it. No longer was I some weak little girl acting like a stoic knight. I was a weak little girl and I was showing it and all its glory to Missouri. Maybe that stupid nightmare I have every time I seem to fall asleep was right: I am pathetic.

"Liz, what are you—"

My phone began to ring. I answered it with a quick, "Hello."

"Liz, where the hell are you?"

Dad's voice rang through the phone, his voice a mixture of relief and fury. I don't think he appreciated the note I simply left him. Well, if he and Uncle Dean hadn't left their phones in the car or let them die….

"I'm with Missouri, like the note said," I simply stated, trying (and failing) to keep my previous emotions from invading my voice.

"You can't just disappear on us," Dad said, "not after…" He didn't need to finish that statement. We both know what he was talking about.

"Okay, fine. I'll just—" Missouri motioned for me to hand over the phone. "Hold on, Missouri wants to talk to you." I gingerly place the phone in her hands.

Before she spoke into the phone, she pointed towards the threshold. "Through the kitchen I have some muffins on the counter. Go help yourself."

I took that as a hint that she was going to say something that she didn't want me to hear. This was a parental strategy used since the dawn of man. Any way to protect the innocence of youth. Too bad I don't have much innocence left to lose.

As I walked back with the platter of muffins in my hands, Missouri slammed my phone shut. "I persuaded him that you and I needed some girl time to talk about…_girly_ stuff. He folded like a bad hand in poker."

I sat down on the couch, placing the tray of muffins down on the table in front of us. "Now, Liz," she said, her voice growing serious, "what were you saying about John…?"

My stomach clenched in fear. "I just…he said that he wouldn't have to do this if I hadn't just killed him. He traded his life and the Colt for Dean's life." I put my head to my hands and hunch over my lap in hopes to calm my nausea.

Missouri was silent. I didn't dare look up. As she put a tentative hand on my shoulders, she said, "Liz…he didn't just give up his life…he sold his soul."

For as many times as I have run into death during the short time I have been on this earth, I never really understood what happened when someone dies. I've seen ghosts, poltergeists, and Uncle Dean's weird out-of-body experience that he doesn't remember happening. But, as far as where your soul left after officially leaving the living plane, I had no idea. I have a feeling that selling a soul is not a good thing.

"Meaning?" I asked in clarification.

"Meaning that his soul was dragged to hell."

I wish I hadn't.


	10. Revelation

**Chapter X - Revelation**

The theories of heaven and hell have baffled me over the years. Dad was a believer, hoping that there was a great place that people went to when they died. Of course, we definitely weren't the go-to-church-every-Sunday sort of family. After Mom died, I lost whatever belief I had managed to obtain—which was slim. After seeing demons, I knew that there was a hell. But a feeling that helped me a fraction of a percent through dealing with Grandpa dying was that he was in a better place, hopefully with his wife—whether it was heaven or nirvana or whatever.

I was obviously and undoubtedly wrong on all counts.

"I need walk," I muttered. I sounded like a two year old. I felt like a two year old. Everything was closing in around me. Maybe some fresh air would do me some good.

If Missouri had called out for me to stay, I either didn't hear her or my mind just decided to ignore her. Either way, I found myself walking down the street, the cool air of nightfall chilling me down to the bone. I accidentally left my jacket at Missouri's, but I didn't care.

My mind was swirling: thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. I thought about the indescribable nightmare that Grandpa has to live with day in and day out without remorse. My imagination probably wasn't even close to what he was actually going through.

From my pocket, my phone buzzed. With wooden movements, I grabbed it and read the text from Dad. It just told me the motel and room number they rented. The text said nothing else. No "see you soon." No "be home by such-and-such a time." He was probably still angry at me and, for once, I couldn't blame him.

I was angry at myself.

But what other option did I have? It literally was either Grandpa or Uncle Dean. Both deaths were a tragedy. With Grandpa, he was dying in a semi-noble way: saving his son. With Uncle Dean, it would be just a man, killed much before his time from a demon.

In a way, I chose Uncle Dean. I walked away from Grandpa when I could have fought harder to convince him that this is the natural order of things. But I chose the easy route. I guess it is just like what Dumbledore said, "We must all face the choice between what is right over what is easy." And I think I chose the easy route.

Without even trying, I had walked to the motel Dad texted me about. It looked like every other motel that we stay at. They all sort of blend in together. I found the room number but, before I could knock, Uncle Dean came barging out.

"What's up with you?" I asked. He ignored me and climbed into the Impala and sped out of the parking lot. I just watched him go for a moment. I'm taking a stab at the dark here, but I think him and Dad just had a fight: either about Grandpa or Gordon Walker or this hunt that Uncle Dean thinks we are on and Dad thinks it's as ridiculous as National Stoners Day.

I hesitantly knocked on the door. "I'm not letting you in. It's not my fucking fault you forgot your key!"

"Will you let me in?" I asked, my voice hoarse for some reason. Dad immediately opened the door and looked down at me. He seemed relieved to see me, but then his face contorted into anger to match his voice.

"About time you got home," he sneered before he turned around and slunk back into the room. I followed behind him, closed the door and made my way to the couch. I'm sure that the other bed would be open tonight, but I didn't have the audacity to ask if I could use it. I'll just stick with the usual couch. It was probably better than the numerous cots I've slept on.

Next to the couch was my duffle. Even though he was royally pissed off at me, Dad had still grabbed my bag. He could've just left it in the Impala and let it be dragged off with Uncle Dean to God knows where. That just made me feel worse.

"Dad…what happened to us?"

Dad looked up from unpacking his own duffle on his bed. He was shocked that I was asking such a deep and personal question. Normally it would be him asking this, not me. I would just take everything in stride. I'd still question it all, but I kept it all internal. Now, with the revelation with what Grandpa really traded with the yellow-eyed demon, I felt like I need to make amends. If I have learned anything about this sucky lifestyle, it's that by this time tomorrow Dad could be dead.

"I guess the shit finally hit the fan," Dad said. He turned back and continued to unpack his duffle. He didn't add anything else to that statement. There really was no need.

"It's just…never mind." I turned back to my own duffle. For the rest of the night, the two of us were silent.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

_I was in the cabin where we faced off against the yellow-eyed demon. Grandpa, who was currently possessed by said demon, stood in front of me with a menacing smile on his face. The Colt was in my hand, pointed, cocked and ready to kill._

_Please, not this again!_

"_You can't even kill a vampire. No wonder you couldn't kill me. You are a weak, pathetic little girl. You shouldn't even be considered a hunter."_

_I didn't say anything—I couldn't say anything. This was my dream, but I had no control over it. _

"_You don't even try to escape a house full of vampires? Your daddy and uncle had to come rescue you. That is just depressing." The gun was jerked out of my hand. Just like every other dream, I was hit over the head and found my in the boiler room where I went to confront Grandpa. He stood in front of me, hatred burning in his eyes—as always. The minor details never changed, just what they accused me of._

"_It's your fault," Grandpa growled. "Now that you know what happened to me, you should have shot me when you had the chance. I could be with my Mary right now instead of being skinned every single fucking day. You are just a weak, pathetic little girl. You shouldn't even be considered a Winchester."_

_The scene changed again. The same feeling of my heart was being jerked out of my chest occurred as I looked around at the white void. Mom stood in front of me, looking like she had in the dream I had._

"_I'm disappointed in you," she said. Her words hurt more than a physical punch. "You are just a weak, pathetic little girl. I can't believe I ever considered you my daughter."_

_This time was different. This time, instead of waking up, I was sitting in the back of the Impala. Uncle Dean was driving and Dad was sitting next to him. It was like every other time. But this one felt different. Of course it would. I was trapped in a nightmare. I didn't expect it to end with butterflies and fairies dancing around singing songs about flowers and happiness._

"_I can't believe Liz," Uncle Dean commented, talking as if I wasn't sitting right behind him. Well, I always sat behind Dad or in the middle, depending if I was part of the conversation or not. "She keeps getting in trouble and we always have to save her ass."_

"_She is a liability," Dad agreed, crossing his arms. "Maybe we should take her to Natasha's like I first thought we should."_

"_Way ahead of you, Sammy," Uncle Dean said. We just then passed a sign that read _Now Entering Palo Alto. _I'm sick of seeing that weak, pathetic little girl."_

"No! I'm not weak! I'm not pathetic!"

"LIZ!"

"STOP CALLING ME A LITTLE GIRL!"

"LIZZIE! DAMMIT, CALM DOWN!"

I was sitting up on the couch, coated in sweat. Dad sat next to me. I had a death grip on his worn shirt, my breathing heavy and inconsistent. He kept me steady by holding my shoulders. I just looked up at him like a deer in headlights—incapable of doing anything but panic.

"Are you okay?"

He was there, sitting in front of me – not plotting how to get rid of me. This is real. I was out of the nightmare. I leaned into his chest and just cried like the weak, pathetic little girl that nightmare-demon, Grandpa, Mom, and Uncle Dean called me. I hated how I was proving them right.

"I'm going to take that as a no," Dad said, chuckling softly. He expected that to cheer me up. It didn't.

I hadn't realized that I was crying until Dad pulled me back and I saw the wet spot on his t-shirt. I wiped the tears away and his frown deepened. "It was..." I hated how shaky my voice sounded. "It was just a nightmare. That's all…"

That wasn't all, and Dad knew it. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He didn't want to talk about this touchy-feely stuff earlier. What's with the sudden change in heart? I shook my head. "You sure?" he prompted, as if asking it again would persuade me to change my mind. I simply gave him the same answer. "It'll be okay, don't worry. This probably won't go on for much longer."

That's where he was wrong. This will probably never end. It will be one, giant cycle of nightmares and insanity for the rest of our lives. At least, it felt like.

"Why don't you go back to bed," Dad suggested. He almost had to push me back down onto the couch for me to obey. He squeezed my shoulder before standing up. He walked over to his bed and turned off the lamp I hadn't realized was on earlier.

For the rest of the night, I just lie there, looking up at the stained ceiling, fighting sleep like it was the plague.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Uncle Dean still wasn't back when Dad woke up. I went to take a shower and refused to look at the mirror. I know I looked like shit. I barely got any sleep last night—and every night, for that matter.

As I stepped out of the steamy bathroom, I saw Dad sitting on the edge of the bed watching something really weird on the TV. _"Next on The Skin Channel is Casa Erotica," _the female announcer said, her voice seductive and smooth. It looked like a commercial for…um…yeah, do not want to talk about it.

When Dad noticed me standing there, he immediately shut the television off. I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Wow," I commented, dragging out the vowel. I crossed over to the couch and threw my pajamas and bathroom stuff into my duffle.

"It was the only thing that was on," Dad argued.

"Yeah, okay, Dad," I said just as the door into the room opened. Standing in the threshold was Uncle Dean. Just looking at him caused a tidal wave of new emotions towards Grandpa's death. I couldn't identify them. I just didn't like the feeling that I had let him down. I let both Dad and Uncle Dean down. Hell, I let the whole world down. It feels like I did, anyway.

"Where the hell were you?" Dad asked as Uncle Dean ventured further into the motel room and threw his jacket on top of the TV, next to the brochure advertising the exact channel that Dad was watching. What the hell kind of motel room did these two get?

"I was out working on my _imaginary_ case," he said, not even bothering to hide the venom that dripped in his voice.

"And?" Dad prompted, probably hoping that Uncle Dean discovered it was a bunch of bull and we could move onto a job that had a legit freaky problem.

"Oh, well, you were right, I didn't find much." Uncle Dean now sounded sarcastic. Obviously he found something that pertained to this case. "Yeah, except Angela's boyfriend died last night. Slit his own throat. But, you know, that's normal. Let's see, what else…oh, he was seeing Angela everywhere before he died. But, you know, I'm sure that is just me transferring my own feelings."

Dad made a face. "Okay, I get it. Sorry. Maybe there is something going on."

"_Maybe_?" Uncle Dean sneered. "Sam, I know how to do my job despite what you might think."

Dad sighed. Ignoring Uncle Dean's comment, he said, "We should go check out that guy's apartment."

"I just came from there," Uncle Dean said, sitting down on the couch next to me, "it's just a pile of dead plants just like the cemetery. Hell, even a dead goldfish."

"So…unholy ground?" I asked, remembering Uncle Dean's previous theory. It seemed like a good of idea as any.

"Think so," Uncle Dean muttered in agreement. "I'm still not getting the angry spirit vibe from Angela." He turned to me. "Unless you're getting one of your weird feelings." I noticed how he didn't ask Dad.

I shook my head. "My freaky radar is on snooze."

Dad gave me "the look." He gave me "the look" whenever I call myself a freak…or call anything pertaining to me freakish.

"Well, I have been reading this, though," Uncle Dean said, standing up again and digging through the pockets of his jacket. He pulled out a pink, snake-skin journal that looked like something a normal teenage girl would write her most dire secrets in.

"You stole the girl's diary," Dad said, his voice hiking in amusement.

"Yes, Sam," Uncle Dean muttered, flipping through the frilly book. I kinda understood the point in keeping a diary. It was much cheaper than a shrink. "And, by the looks of it, this chick was too good.

"So…what do you want to do?" Dad prompted.

"Keep digging. Talk to some of her friends."

"Did you get any names?"

"Are you kidding me?" Uncle Dean held up the book and shook it to grab Dad's attention. "We have her best friend right here."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I had no clue what went down during their talk with one of Angela's guy friends. But whatever it was, it reiterated the idea that maybe—just maybe—Angela might be a malevolent spirit after all. So, once the sun was down, we went to work digging up the grave.

Well, Dad and I went to work digging—Uncle Dean stood there with a beer in his hand "supervising." He probably thinks this is punishment for us not believing him even though I didn't give any indication whether I believed him or not.

Once we hit the mahogany casket, Uncle Dean put his beer down on the hood of the Impala and grabbed the gasoline and Zippo. I held the flashlight steady as Dad unlatched the casket and pulled it open.

It was empty. The frilly white inside remained untouched, except for the dirt that fell into it on our behalf. The two of us looked up at a flabbergasted Uncle Dean.

"They buried the body four days ago," Uncle Dean stated, as if we didn't know.

"I don't get it," Dad said.

"Hey, check this out," I said, leaning down into the casket. I moved the pillow (um…what's the point?) to reveal a bunch of ruins—some of which I recognized, most of which I didn't. Whatever they were, they weren't good.


	11. Lies

**Chapter XI - Lies**

We stayed up all night doing research, using coffee and soda to keep us awake. A while ago, Dad confirmed that the symbols were Greek. Uncle Dean confirmed that it was some sort of ritual. I confirmed that all-nighters sucked.

The ritual was consistent with Angela's father, who was a professor of Greek studies or something like that. At too-damn-early o'clock, Dad and Uncle Dean were at his door. Uncle Dean pounded on the door in frustration. I could hear it all the way in the Impala.

Once they were inside, I relaxed a little, thinking about allowing the pull of sleep to overcome me. Of course, I didn't dare. What if I had that nightmare? I couldn't deal with the insufferable pain again.

I decided to check my phone, which was dead. I guess if Missouri did try to contact me, she would have just gotten my voicemail, which was the famous "Speeeeak," from _RENT_.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Dean?"

"Back off."

"That man is innocent. He didn't deserve that!"

"Maybe she's not here. Maybe he's keeper her somewhere else."

I could hear the two of them bickering from inside the Impala. It was obvious that Angela's father is not the one responsible for creating a zombie. I'm guessing Uncle Dean had a hissy fit about bringing back the dead, which prompted the bitchfest between the two of them.

"Stop it! That's enough! Okay! Enough!"

"Sam, I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't. I'm not scared easily. But, man, you're scaring the shit out of me."

"Don't be overdramatic, Sam."

"You're lucky that this turned out to be a real case. Because, if it wasn't, you would have just found something else to kill."

"What?"

"You're on edge. You're erratic. Except for when you're hunting, 'cause then you're downright scary. You're tail spinning man, and you refuse to let me help you."

A beat of silence. "I can take care of myself, thanks."

"No! You can't! And you know what? You're the only one who thinks you should have to. You don't have to handle this on your own, Dean. No one can."

Uncle Dean balled his fist threateningly. "I swear Sammy, if you bring up Dad one more time—"

"It's killing you. We've already lost Dad…we've lost Mom…Liz and I lost Jess…hell, I feel like I'm losing Liz…and you."

Someone might as well stab me in the heart. That's what it felt like. Each word uttered, each sentence spoken felt like a knife was getting deeper and deeper inside my chest. But that last comment—about Dad feeling like he was losing Uncle Dean and I—hit home, dividing my heart in two.

"We better get out of here before the cops come," Uncle Dean said, seemingly unfazed by Dad's words. I wish I could shove it off like him. It would make life a helluva lot easier.

Dad was about to make a comment, but Uncle Dean intercepted it. "Yeah, I get it. I'm being an ass. Some kind of teenage angst is going on with Liz. And I'm sorry, but we've got a freaking zombie running around and we need to figure out how to kill it."

Dad huffed out a laugh.

"What?"

"Our lives are weird, man."

"You're telling me?"

Consider this bitchfest over.

"Come on," Uncle Dean said, walking the rest of the way to the Impala. I quickly shoved my headphones on and pressed play, acting as if I didn't even hear their heartfelt—and heart-stomping—conversation.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

_Find the area of a triangle that has a base of 8 inches and a height of 10 inches_. I read the question over and over again, trying to focus long enough to figure out the formula to find the area of a triangle. I want to say it's _A=½bh_, but my mind kept wandering. I currently didn't have the attention span to figure out such a simple task.

In conclusion: math sucked, my life sucked, and I'm actually getting sick of mentally complaining about it.

As I was forced to sit at Dad's computer to do my schoolwork, he and Uncle Dean were having a grand ole time figuring out how to kill Angela the Zombie.

"We can't just waste it with a head shot?" Uncle Dean asked, walking back from the kitchen and into the main part of the room.

"Dude, you have been watching way too many Romero flicks," Dad commented, eye-roll and all.

"Are you telling me there is no lore on how to smoke them?"

"No, Dean, I'm telling you there's too much. I mean, there's a million different legends on the walking dead. But they all have different methods of killing them." The two of them sat down at the table.  
>Some say setting them on fire. One said…where is it?" He flipped through Grandpa's journal. "Oh, here! Feeding their hearts to wild dogs. My personal favorite." He slammed the book onto the table. "But they are all different."<p>

"Is there anything in common?"

"No," Dad admitted. "But many say silver might work."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But, how can we find Angela?"

"Find the person who brought her back."

"Any ideas?"

Uncle Dean stood up and crossed the room to grab Angela's diary. "If it wasn't her dad, I think it might be that guy, Neil."

"Neil?"

"Yep."

Dad was taken aback. "How'd you come up with that?"

"Well, you have your journal. I have mine." He flipped through Angela's diary until he found the spot he was looking for. "Neil's such a shoulder to cry on—he's so understanding about what I am going through with Matt." He slammed the book shut dramatically.

I looked up from the screen where I have been on the same problem for the last few minutes. "So, she really appreciates her gay best friend. That doesn't mean that he's automatically the bringer-back-to-life…person."

"What if he isn't gay," Uncle Dean suggested, crossing his arms and looking down at me.

"Are you saying that maybe he was friend-zoned and doesn't want to be?" I asked, starting to catch on to what he was saying.

"Even so, how do we know that it is this Neil guy?" Dad asked.

"Did I mention that he was Professor Mason's TA? He has access to the same books as him."

Dad frowned in contemplation. There really is no denying the fact that this Neil guy was the bringer-back-to-life…person.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I waited in the car while Dad and Uncle Dean went to scope out Neil's place. It was barely five minutes later that they came rushing back and heading towards Angela's old place because (from what I've gathered) Angela was after her roommate, Lindsey, for sleeping with Matt.

This sounds like a terrible crossover between a cheesy soap opera and a bad zombie movie.

As Uncle Dean pulled up in front of Lindsey's house, the two of them got pistols full of silver bullets ready. Dad's parting words: "Stay here."

I anxiously sat in the Impala. Looking out the window didn't do anything to help me see anything. I heard a few screams and some gunfire. I took the gunfire as a cue to check things out. I ran towards the house only to run into the very dead, but very much animated, Angela. I didn't have a chance. She plowed me over. Her skin felt extremely cold and hard. I fell with a hollow thud into the dewy grass.

As I lie there dazed, I knew that silver bullets were definitely a no-go.

"Liz, are you okay?" I heard Dad cry out as he kneeled down beside me. I quickly sat up to avoid his assistance.

"I'm fine," I muttered. It seemed like I am saying that a lot lately. "I just, you know, got run over by a freaking zombie."

"Sometimes I can't tell if you are being serious or sarcastic," Uncle Dean muttered from the front porch. Behind him must have been Lindsey. She looked absolutely terrified, still processing what she had just witnessed.

"Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?" Lindsey screamed. Uncle Dean whipped around to face her and explain what she needs to do in case Angela shows up out of the blue again. Dad focused back onto me.

"I just fell, Dad," I insisted, sensing a mother-hen moment coming on. Sometimes he is worse than Uncle Dean.

I reluctantly let him help me up (mostly to please him). Lindsey stepped back into the house and slammed the door behind her. The audible clanks of multiple locks rang through the night like deformed church bells. "Okay, now we just need to go find Neil."

"He might be at the college," I suggested. "You mentioned that Neil was Professor Mason's TA."

Uncle Dean nodded. "Let's hope he's the geek boy type." He looked at Dad when he said it. He really doesn't deny a chance to poke fun at him, does he?

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

There was only one car in the nearly-deserted parking lot, and I was willing to bet my proverbial millions that it was Neil's rusty Pontiac.

Before I realized what was going on, Uncle Dean had tossed me a shot gun. I looked down at it for a moment before saying, "Uh, I thought we already established that this thing is useless."

"Yeah, well, it'll hopefully slow it down enough for one of us to catch up with it," Uncle Dean said. When he says 'one of us', he means him or Dad.

"Only use it if it is absolutely necessary," Dad reiterated. He still hates it when I have a gun in my hand. It certainly lost its appeal long ago—holding the gun, I mean.

"I think by now I know the rules," I said, placing the gun gingerly next to me. "Shoot to injure, not kill."

Dad smiled sadly at me before he and Uncle Dean climbed out of the Impala. I couldn't tell what that smile meant—I just knew that it couldn't be explained in few words.

I settled into the seat and looked at the building, expecting Angela the Zombie to suddenly appear and start munching on brains. Okay, I know that she doesn't do that and it is just my modern horror movie wired brain talking, but the whole zombie thing sent me on edge…rightfully so.

A few minutes later, Dad and Uncle Dean walked out of the building at nearly a sprint. Angela was not in sight, and I was afraid that she actually wasn't there with Neil. This would mean that we had no other leads on where Angela would be.

In record time, Uncle Dean tore the Impala out of the parking lot. I was about to play a game of twenty-questions, but simply listening in on their conversation told me everything I needed to know.

"Okay, so, we set up the ritual—"

"And get Angela into the coffin to stab her—"

"But how do we get her in there?"

Uncle Dean has many scary faces. His mischievous one was probably the most horrifying. "I think I have a plan."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We had all the candles and all the other aspects of the rituals ready when Angela arrived, running through the graveyard like a mad woman. Uncle Dean strategically set it up so that Angela went after Dad first—much to his chagrin.

Uncle Dean and I stood on either side of the casket, both armed with stakes. We were both given equal chances to get to Angela, but the one with the best opportunity would take it. Secretly, I prayed that it would be Uncle Dean. I'd rather not have another run-in with Angela, thank you very much.

When Dad broke through the trees, followed by Angela, I tensed. I formulated a plan in my head that would make me useful without having to do the actually killing myself—but it'll probably hurt like hell.

I looked at Uncle Dean, who looked like he was ready to pounce. I gave him the nugatory signal, and he nodded. He trusted me on this—actually trusted me on this. Okay, this plan cannot fail. A lot was riding on this moment—more than should be lawful.

Dad breezed by, his gaze shifted quizzically between us, as if questioning why we haven't made a move yet. Once he was a stride passed me, I dove towards Angela, landing roughly on my stomach just in front of her feet. Her foot caught my rib, and I cried out in agony. I rolled with the movement, which I was trying to avoid. But Angela fell anyways—fell into the pit with her open casket, awaiting her return.

Taking his chance, Uncle Dean dove in and shoved the stake right into her chest. She cried out for a moment before growing silent and still. The undead was finally dead…again.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

It wasn't until after dawn that we had the grave filled and looking as if we were never there. Angela was finally back where she belonged, and Dad needs to get his wrist checked out because of it.

We were hitting the open road, and Uncle Dean did not hide his relief that we were getting out of Lawrence. But something seemed really off about him. The Impala was completely silent. We weren't talking, and Uncle Dean hadn't turned on the radio to his usual hits of mullet rock.

It was a couple hours outside of town that Uncle Dena pulled over and climbed out of the Impala. After a few seconds, Dad followed suit.

"Dean, what is it?" Dad asked as Uncle Dean sat down on the hood of the Impala, the usual place for their brotherly moments. I climbed out of the Impala, but stood next to the open door.

"I'm sorry."

Okay, not what I was expecting.

"What?"

I guess Dad hadn't either.

"The way I've been acting…" Dad circled around to sit next to him on the hood, "and for Dad."

This really made Dad's head spin. It made dread spread through my body, seep into my bones.

"He was your dad, too," Uncle Dean continued, "and it's my fault that he's gone."

"What are you talking about?"

I drew in a shaky breath. _No, no, it isn't your fault_, I wanted to scream, but it felt like someone shoved a whole bunch of dry bread down my throat. I could not make a sound.

"I know you have been thinking it and so have I….It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back in the hospital…I made a full recovery. It was a miracle. And five minutes later Dad's dead and the Colt's gone."

I felt like I was going to be sick.

"Dean—"

"You can't tell me there isn't a connection there."

The cicadas around us buzzed with life. I heard birds chirp somewhere in the distance. Around us, the world moved on, and it seemed like the three of us were stuck in some sort of time warp with no chance of ever getting out.

"I don't know how the demon is involved…I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly…but Dad's dead because of me, and that much I do know."

"We don't know that. Not for sure."

I know exactly how things went down. I know exactly how everything happened…and I could have stopped it. I wanted to tell them—needed to tell them, but my damn throat won't let me. Maybe it was my body's reaction towards keeping my last promise to Grandpa—a way to tell me that it was best to keep my pie hole clamped.

"Sam, you and Dad and Liz…you are the most important people in my life. And now…I shouldn't have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural, and now look what's come of it. I was dead, and I should have stayed dead." Uncle Dean's jaw was trembling, and I kept a strong grip on the door to keep myself from double over. He was slowly figuring it out, and it was only a matter of time that the real truth came out—the truth that Missouri had told me what seemed like a millennia ago.

"You wanted to know how I was feeling," said Uncle Dean, his voice shaking as he attempted to keep in the emotions that could eventually succumb him. "Well, that's it. So, tell me…what could you possibly say that could make this alright?"

Dad didn't have the answer to that one.


	12. Classic

_Author's Note: I know that on the TV show, Sam was born in '83. However, I adjusted the date to fit Liz into the equation._

**Chapter 12 - Classic**

"I'm just saying that you might actually like _Rock of Ages_. I mean, it practically has the playlist of your life as the soundtrack."

"Newsflash Lizzie: I don't do musicals."

"How do you feel about Abba? There's always _Mamma Mia_. Although, that is probably a little more chick-flicky than you would go for."

"Okay, seriously, what the hell is taking Sam so long. I am sick of talking about musicals with you."

I rolled my eyes at him for the musicals comment, but I couldn't help but agree with him. Dad has been in the bathroom an awful long time. Maybe he drowned or something.

"I'm gonna go check on him," Uncle Dean said, standing up from leaning against the Impala. "And when we get back, I'm going to corrupt you with some good music from Van Halen and the like."

"I don't mind Van Halen," I muttered as he walked towards the gas station. Ever since the whole brotherly shmoop moment, I've been trying to keep things lighthearted—staying away from the teenage angst that Uncle Dean complains about.

From my pocket, the familiar chorus of _7-1/2 Cents_ started to play. I looked down at the caller ID and pressed the side button that made it stop ringing.

That's when I felt it, the icy fear running down my spine. Something was up with Dad, I was sure of it. I followed quickly after Uncle Dean, circling around the building until I made it to the bathrooms in the back. There, Uncle Dean stood in the open doorway, looking really confused.

"Don't tell me that you…" Uncle Dean tapered off, not wanting to state what the hell just happened here.

_Had a vision_, I mentally completed for him.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We barreled-ass down the highway, listening to some local radio station in Nebraska. I had no idea where we were going, I just knew that it had something to do with Dad's vision—which I didn't get much details about since, as always, I am forced to stay out of the loop.

"I don't know, man. Why don't we chill out and think about this," Uncle Dean suggested as he guided the Impala effortlessly down the road.

Dad turned off the radio. "What's there to think about?" he asked, oddly calm. I put on my headphones to make them think I wasn't listening, even though they weren't even hooked up to my MP3-player. I took a swig from my Coke for added affect.

"I just don't think going down to the Roadhouse is a smart idea."

What is this Roadhouse he's talking about? They're obviously familiar with the place, since he mentioned it so nonchalantly. Maybe it dated back to the pre-Dad-running-to-college era, just like Bobby.

"I had another premonition, I know it," Dad insisted. "It's going to happen God knows when."

"Sa—"

"And it has something to do with the demon. They always do!"

"I know that! But there's going to be hunters there. I don't think it's a good idea to run in there announcing that you are some kind of…of supernatural freak is such a good idea. I think demonic possession is the best way, okay?"

Alright, I have deduced that this Roadhouse has some sort of hunter watering hole. They probably hang out in between hunts and chit-chat about their latest kills. I can oddly see it all now.

Dad stared at Uncle Dean incredulously. "So, I'm a freak now? I'm guessing you think that Liz a freak, too."

I couldn't help but smile despite the grim situation. Uncle Dean just kept digging his own grave. Soon, he just might make it to China.

But, as usually, he made a witty comment. "You've always been a freak," he said. "And since Liz has fifty-percent of your genes, she's at least a half-freak…most likely more."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Technically speaking, this bar's official name was Harvelle's Roadhouse. It seemed like your run-of-the-mill, in-the-middle-of-BFE bar. Loud music that could be heard from outside, beater cars parked out front. Yep, it was certainly stereotypical.

With Uncle Dean taking the lead, the three of us walked inside. Upon the first glance, I knew that I was the youngest one here by a long shot. I was most likely an outlier. Great, now I am using math terminology. I'm taking that as I sign that I need to do less schoolwork.

"Just can't stay away, can you," a cute, blonde girl greeted Uncle Dean. She was short, about the same height as me, although she was definitely older than me.

"Yeah, it looks like it," Uncle Dean quipped. "How you doin', Jo?"

While Uncle Dean continued with the friendly chit-chat, Dad was automatically in business-mode. "Hey, where's Ash?"

"In his bedroom," the girl named Jo answered. "And I'm fine, thank you."

"Sorry 'bout that," Uncle Dean said as Jo turned back around. We're sort of on a time table."

"So, I'm guessing this is Sam's daughter," Jo said, pointing right at me. Okay, so maybe the Roadhouse is post-Dad-running-to-college. Maybe it had something to do with the week they left me at Bobby's.

"Yeah," I said, waving awkwardly. "I'm Liz, just so you don't keep calling me Sam's daughter."

"Cute and witty," Jo said. She looked up at Uncle Dean. "Are you sure she's related to you."

Without saying another word, Uncle Dean walked away. I quickly followed after him, not wanting to remain with some stranger, even if she was nice…ish.

We walked towards Dad, who was knocking on a door that said DR. BADASS IS IN. I'm guessing that has something to do with this Ash guy Dad mentioned earlier. It makes me wonder about the man behind the door if he calls himself Dr. Badass.

Uncle Dean joined in, shouting, "Hey, Dr. Badass."

The door creaked open and a naked man was leaning against the doorframe, barely covering his privates with the door. Dad immediately shot his hand to cover my eyes, as if I had never been through sex-ed.

"Sam. Dean." he said, sounding high. "Sam and Dean….And some cute, brunette chick." Seriously, these people can quit lying about how cute I am.

"Hey Ash," Dad said. He cleared his throat. "We need your help."

"Well then," Ash muttered, "I need my pants." After a moment, he closed the door and the three of us couldn't be happier to walk away.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Whilst Dad and Uncle Dean talked with Ash about finding about Dad's visions, I was shunned to the bar where I met the owner of the Roadhouse, Ellen Harvelle. She was also Jo's mother, which I could kind of see a family resemblance.

"So, tell me a little about yourself," Ellen said, placing a Coke in front of me. I didn't even order it. "And, skip the parts about hunting. I get too much of that shit from everybody else."

I shrugged. "I don't know what to say."

"Hey, come on, I'm sure you've got something to talk about. You're way too young to be mixed up in this mess. You're Daddy probably does his best to keep you outta it."

I didn't have the heart to tell her that, although Dad does give it the ole college try, I somehow always end up in the middle of it—accidentally or purposely.

"Well, I'm thirteen, just started eighth grade, I'm overly obsessed with musicals, and I'm short for my age."

"Hey, don't complain," Jo said, walking back behind the counter to fill some orders. "You still have a chance to grow."

I rolled my eyes. It would be my luck to stay just barely above five-foot when I have a dad who is the same height as Superman, and a mom who was pretty tall as well.

"Is there a boy waiting back home for the love of his life?" Jo asked, leaning against the counter in front of me.

I nearly choked on my Coke by her question.

"Jo," Ellen warned.

"What? It was just a question." She turned her attention back towards me. "Well…?"

"You're very funny," I muttered dryly. "And, no. There most certainly isn't."

Jo headed back onto the floor to deliver the drinks. Ellen went back to her work, thankfully leaving me alone. I sipped at my Coke, wishing I had grabbed a book or something to do.

The crowd began to thin out, probably either heading to a motel room or the next hunt. It made me wonder how these people got here. Maybe their story was as tragic as ours. I'd hate to think that they lost someone they love by the hands of a terrible monster, forever changing their lives.

It's depressing, really.

After a while, Uncle Dean sat next to me and ordered a beer. "We just might have a lead," he said, after Ellen placed the drink in front of him. "Some place called Guthrie, Oklahoma."

I nodded. That was the most information I have gotten all night.

"I'm guessing that's where we're headed," I said, as I polished off my Coke. Ellen asked if I wanted a refill. I said no thanks.

In the back corner of the bar, Jo was pressing buttons on the jukebox. After a moment, the open chords of "Can't fight this feeling," started playing.

Uncle Dean glared at her as she headed back towards the bar.

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

"REO Speedwagon?"

"Damn right, REO. Dave Amato sings it from the heart."

"He sings it from the hair. There's a difference." Uncle Dean took a swig of his beer.

I rolled my eyes. "Forgive him. He isn't happy with anyone else's choice in music."

Ignoring my comment, Jo glanced over at Ellen, who was now sitting at a table going over some paperwork now that the bar isn't as crowded.

"That profile you've got Ash looking up," Jo began, biting her lip, "you're mom died the same way, right? The fire in Sam's nursery."

My heart sank. Isn't it bad enough that we have to find this stupid demon and deal with mine and Dad's freaky powers? Now, Jo just had to go ahead and bring up the reason why we were doing this in the first place.

"Look Jo. This is kind of a family matter."

Thank you, Uncle Dean.

"I could help."

This chick is persistent. I'll give her that.

"I'm sure you could. But we gotta handle this one ourselves. Besides, if you ran off with me, I think your mom might kill me."

Ellen, obviously hearing us, looked up to glare at Uncle Dean. He gave a halfhearted smile.

"You're afraid of my mother."

"I think so," Uncle Dean said, still smiling like a fool.

I rolled my eyes, glad that this conversation morphed into a snide-remark competition.

Dad suddenly appeared behind Jo, a look of determination on his face. "We've got a match. We've gotta go."

Uncle Dean didn't hesitate to stand up. "I'll see yah later," he muttered. I had to scramble to follow after them.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Despite the fact that the Roadhouse was a few miles away by now, Uncle Dean was still singing along to the catching tune. It wasn't until the second chorus that Dad got said something about it.

"Seriously?" was all he said, but it was enough to shut Uncle Dean up.

"I dunno," Uncle Dean mumbled, obviously trying to come up with an excuse as to why he was singing a song he had made fun of just a few minutes ago. "I he-heard it somewhere or…something." He cleared his throat. "What you got?" he asked, pushing passed the REO Speedwagon discussion.

"Andrew Gallagher," Dad said, looking down at the papers in his hands. "Born in '74, like me. He lost his mother in a nursery fire, also like me."

"You think the demon killed his mom?"

"Sure looks like it."

"How'd you even know to look for this guy?"

"Every vision I've had isn't about the demon. It's about the other kids the demon visited. Max Miller—remember him?"

"Yeah, well, Max Miller was a psycho."

"The point is, he was killing people, and those visions were about him. Now, it could be happening all over again with this Gallagher guy."

"How do we find him?"

"I dunno. No current address—no employment. Still owes money on all his bills."

"Collection agency flags?"

Dad shook his head. "Not in the system."

"They let him take a walk?"

"Seems like it. But, there is a work address on his last W2. We'll start there."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

By morning, we had made it to a little diner in Guthrie. Dad and Uncle Dean quickly dressed in their suits to pose as debt collectors.

"So, what am I supposed to do for breakfast?" I asked just as Dad and Uncle Dean were about to head into the diner. It would look pretty weird if a couple of debt collectors came in with a teenager. But I was hungry and in desperate need of coffee.

"Here," Dad said, handing me a twenty, "we passed a café, about a block back. Why don't you get breakfast there?"

"Okay," I said. I waited for Dad to tell me to grab my knife or some other form of protection, but he simply walked away. Maybe by now he knows that I can remember things like that myself.

I headed down the sidewalk, which was fairly bare at this time of the morning. The café Dad suggested was closer than he guessed, which I certainly wasn't complaining about.

The café was more crowded than I expected it to be. Then again, this was the ideal time for commuters to grab a coffee and pastry before heading off to their nine-to-five jobs. I stood in line, rehearsing my order in my head so I didn't make a fool out of myself.

"How may I help you?" the barista asked me once I got to the front. To say he was cute would be an understatement. He was gorgeous in an I'm-way-too-old-for-you kind of way. He had to be sixteen or seventeen. Why must all the attractive men be four years older than me?

"Uh…yeah," well, there goes my plan, "I'll take a large pumpkin spice latte and one of those…fancy donut things right there."

"Those are called scones," he said.

"I knew that," I said. I didn't, actually.

"Sure you did," he muttered, grabbing a paper cup from the large stack. "And, who would this be for?"

"Liz," I said, thankful that I remembered my name. My brain refused to function around this guy.

"Okay, this'll be ready in a sec." He placed the cup next to a line of marked cups. "Next."

I woodenly walked away from the counter, my legs somehow stiff and pudding-like at the same time. I sat down at the table closest to the counter, thinking that would be a prime spot to scope out the cute guy. But then I worried about making myself seem desperate—which, regrettably, I am.

I mean, it's not like I was the biggest catch back in Palo Alto. I wasn't athletic, or fashionable, or one of those who was somehow popular.

"Liz," the guy called out. I stood up and walked over to the pick-up counter. He handed me my latte and scone. Before he turned away, I caught the name on his nametag: Aaron.

As I walked back to the diner, I couldn't help but think how ridiculous I was towards thinking that I had a chance with this Aaron guy. I mean, what was I supposed to tell him? That I was only here until we catch this Andrew Gallagher guy and then I'm moving onto the next place that is haunted by monsters.

Although, a date with him still sounds pleasant.

By the time I reached the diner, I had finished the scone and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. I sipped at my latte just as Dad and Uncle Dean waltzed through the doors. Dad had a look of determination on his face, while Uncle Dean looked like he was trying to suppress a laugh.

I had no clue what had happened in the diner, and I don't think I want to find out.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We were parked on Orchard Street, just across the road from a creeper van with a barbarian queen riding a polar bear painted on the side. It was possibly the weirdest vehicle I have ever seen.

"I'm starting to like this dude," Uncle Dean said, "his ride is sweet."

Dad glared at Uncle Dean. I looked between the two of them. I had a feeling that something was gonna go down.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

Uncle Dean gave him an are-you-serious look. "You look like you just sucked on a lemon."

"It's this Andrew Gallagher," Dad stated. "He's the second guy we've found, Dean. The demon came to them when they were kids, and now they're killing people."

"We don't know who this Andrew Gallagher is. It could be anybody."

"The visions haven't been wrong yet."

"Your point?"

"My point is...I'm one of them. Liz is one of them."

I hated it. It was the truth, but I hated it. I didn't like this anymore than he does. At least he can use his visions to try and do some good. What can I do? Barge into someone's mind and know what they are thinking and saying, and sometimes even see their life through their lives. Whoopee-frickin'-do.

"No, you're not."

"Dean, the demon said he had plans for me and Liz and children like us."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, maybe that is his plan. Make us all a bunch of psychic freaks. We're all supposed to be—"

"Killers," Uncle Dean finished for him.

"Yeah."

"The demon wants you out there killing with your minds. Oh, give me a break. You're not a murderer Sam. Liz isn't a murderer. You guys don't have it in your bones."

I couldn't tell if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

"No?" Dad muttered. "Last time I checked, I've killed a whole bunch of things. At least Liz fits that statement."

"Those things were asking for it," Uncle Dean stated simply. "There's a difference."

"Uh…guys," I said, leaning up against the front seat and pointing out the window. "I'm going to take a guess and say that's the man we're looking for."

To say the least: he looked like a total loser. He walked out of the house in a robe, a pair of dirty sweatpants, and a grungy shirt. From the second story, a girl waved down to him. She was all legs and tan and fake blonde highlights.

Okay, something was up. There is no way that guy could get in bed with some chick like _that_.

As he walked down the street, he stopped a man in a plaid vest carrying a cup of coffee. I couldn't hear what Andrew Gallagher was saying, but he pointed at the coffee. The man nodded and handed over the coffee, as if Andrew Gallagher was the Queen of Sheba.

"Okay, is it just me, or is this weird?"

"It's weird," Uncle Dean confirmed.

The three of us continued to follow Andrew Gallagher. Once he made it to the corner, he greeted a portly, African American man with a huge smile on his face.

"That's him!" Dad suddenly cried out. "He's the shooter."

"Wait…_shooter_?" I asked, confused as to what was actually going on right now.

"Well, you keep on him, I'll stick with Andy."

"What about me?"

"You stay with Dean," Dad said as he climbed out of the Impala.

Much to Uncle Dean's chagrin, I leaped over the backrest so that I could sit in the passenger's seat.

"You know, there's a reason why they invented a door."

"Can't you let me act like a Charlie's Angel for once?" I asked him. I took a sip of my latte when Uncle Dean grabbed my wrist.

"What is written on the cup?" he asked.

"Uh…probably my order," I said, twisting the cup around. Although it was marked up, it wasn't in the way I expected it. There was a local phone number. Next to it was the name Aaron.

"Well, I'll be damned. Lizzie's got a boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," I grumbled. "He's just a barista who took my order. He probably gives it to every girl who looks at him." I tried to shove it off like it wasn't a big deal when, in my adolescent mind, it was.

"So, when are you going to call him?"

"I'm not going to call him!" I cried. "Besides, we've got something a little bit more important to deal with." I pointed to the epic van, which was now driving down the road. Uncle Dean put the Impala in gear, and began following after Andrew Gallagher.

For a few minutes, we tailed him as he went from street to street. I thought about telling Uncle Dean to back off a bit, but then Andrew Gallagher pulled over and I knew that we were screwed.

Andrew Gallagher climbed out of his van and began walking this way. Icy fear ran down my spine. I looked at Uncle Dean, who was wearing a pretty good poker face right now. He quickly grabbed one of two guns lying between us. He handed the other one off to me, the look in his eyes saying to not hesitate to kill.

Yeah, like I could do that before.

"Hey," Andrew Gallagher said as he leaned against the door.

"Hey," Uncle Dean said, feigning friendliness.

"This is a nice ride," Andrew Gallagher commented, glancing over the hood and around the doors.

"Yeah, thanks," Uncle Dean muttered, not sure what to take of this whole thing.

"Sixty-seven," he continued, chuckling lightly. "Impala's best year, if you ask me. Ha ha, this is a serious classic."

Uncle Dean casually removed his hand from the inside of his jacket. "Yeah, you know, I just rebuilt her, too. Can't let a car like this go to waste."

"Damn straight," Andrew Gallagher said, slapping Uncle Dean casually on the shoulder.

Okay, seriously? What is with men and cars? Start complimenting on one and they'll be friendly to a psychotic murderer.

"Can I have it?"

I was about to make a snide remark about this guy's boldness, but then Uncle Dean did the last thing on earth that I ever expected.

"Sure, man." He happily climbed out of the car and handed over the keys to Andrew Gallagher.

"Uh…what the hell are you doing?" I cried, looking up at Uncle Dean incredulously.

"Come on, sweetheart. Get out of the car."

"Okay, first off buddy, I ain't your sweetheart. And, second, what the hell is going on?"

Andrew Gallagher looked dumbfounded, as if he couldn't believe what I was saying.

"Come on Lizzie. Let the good man have the Impala."

I had a choice: fight this man, get out of the car, or shoot him on counts of Grand Theft Auto on easy mode. But, before I could make a decision, Andrew Gallagher turns back to Uncle Dean and says, "Get your daughter out of the Impala."

"She's not my daughter, but, okay!" Uncle Dean circled around. I pounced towards the lock button, but he swung the door open before I could press down on it. He forcefully pulled me out of the car, spilling some of my latte onto the seat.

"Oh, thanks," Andrew Gallagher said, climbing into the driver's seat. I struggled to get out of Uncle Dean's death grip, but he just wouldn't budge. Andrew Gallagher drove away, leaving the two of us in the dust.


	13. Smooth

_Author's Note: I'm hoping to do an every-other-day update (at least, until school starts back up again), but I am not making any promises. I need to thank everyone who has reviewed and followed this story. Hope you are enjoying it so far!_

**Chapter 13 - Smooth**

"Are you insane?" I cried when Uncle Dean finally released my arms. "You just let that Gallagher guy run off with the Impala."

"I know, I know. I couldn't help it." Uncle Dean shouted, using his cell to call Dad.

"You just—"

"Yeah, I know, Sammy," Uncle Dean said into the cell. "He just asked for it, and I let him take it….He full on Obi-Wan me. It's mind control, man….Sam…?"

There was a long pause as Uncle Dean listened to the cell. "Quit your blubbering Sammy, and explain to me what the hell is going on." Every time I inched my ear closer to catch what was going on, he would step aside so I wouldn't overhear. "Well shit. Where are you?"

"Dean, what's—"

"Okay, got it. Liz and I'll be there." Uncle Dean slammed the phone shut with a heavy sigh.

"Don't tell me that Dad didn't save the man in time."

"Oh, he did," Uncle Dean muttered, "only for him to get hit by a friggin' bus."

It didn't take long to get to Dad's current location. Uncle Dean and I were silent the entire trek. By the time we reached Dad, cruisers and ambulance trucks surrounded us. He was sitting at the base of a lamp pole, watching as they bagged up the man's body. The hurt look on Dad's face said it all: he felt terrible that he couldn't save him.

Uncle Dean and I crouched down on either side of Dad.

"I kept him out of the gun store," Dad said, his voice and face void of any emotion. "I thought he was okay. I thought he was passed it. I should've…I should've stayed with him."

Uncle Dean and I had no clue what to say to that. Any sympathy lines we tried to use on him would just go in one ear and out the other. But there is one language that Dad was very fluent in.

"Come on," I said, tugging at his sleeve, "we've got a murderous carjacker to catch."

"But first," Uncle Dean said, as the three of us stood up. "We need to find my baby."

"Good thinking," I said. "If we find the Impala, most likely we can find Andrew Gallagher."

"Yeah, that's totally what I was going for."

That, at least, got Dad to smile, though halfheartedly.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

It was a few blocks away from the accident when we found Uncle Dean's beloved Impala, all black, sleek, shiny, and completely in one piece. At least this Gallagher guy had the decency to not crash it, as per my previous mental monologue about guys and cars.

"Oh thank god!" Uncle Dean sighed, as he blindly ran into traffic. He leaned against the doors, stroking her like a crazy cat lady might pet one of her precious cats in a tight-knit sweater. "I'll never leave you again! I promise!" Never mind, he was worse than a crazy cat lady. He gave another once over before saying, "At least he left the keys in it."

"Yeah," Dad snorted, "real Samaritan, this guy."

"It looks like he can't just work his mojo just by twitching his nose, he needs to make verbal commands."

"The doctor just got off his cell phone before he stepped in front of that bus." He sucked in an unsteady breath. "Andy must have called him."

"Also," I said, suddenly hating what I was about to say, "his smooth talk or whatever you want to call it…it didn't work on me."

"What?"

"Yeah, he told me to get out of the car, and I didn't have any urge to do so. Actually, he had to get Uncle Dean to pull me out." I sheepishly looked inside at the passenger's seat. "Also, the spilt latte is entirely your fault," I told Uncle Dean.

"What?" Uncle Dean pushed me out of the way to look at the seat he somehow overlooked. "You have got to be fucking kidding me. Do you know how much shopping I had to do to find replica leather for this thing?"

"Well, now you know where to look to replace it," I said.

Uncle Dean leaned over and grabbed the paper cup off the floorboards. Before I could stop him, he showed the cup to Dad. "Consider this payback."

"Hey! Come on!" I cried, attempting to push passed him. He wouldn't budge.

"What's this?" Dad asked, inspecting the cup closer. He saw Aaron's number. "Who is this?" Dad shouted, new-found anger rising up from his reserves.

"Some random guy who worked at the café _you_ made me go to for breakfast. Essentially, this is your entire fault."

"Wait, how is this my fault?"

"If you had sent me anywhere else but there, this wouldn't have happened."

"I think," Uncle Dean began, "you should go kick this kids ass for hitting on your daughter. And ground her because she is much too young to be dating."

"Dean, I thought you lost your virginity at thirteen?"

"How the—did you mind-rape me again?"

"Unfortunately," I muttered. "Look, what is more important right now: arguing about some random guy's number or stopping this guy who killed the doctor—and I do not mean the Time Lord."

"Liz's right—but don't think that your off the hook for this."

"For having a guy's number written on a cup in what is obviously not my handwriting?"

"Yes."

"Well, that makes sense."

"Look, as much as I want to relentlessly tease Liz about this, we need to look at the other possibilities."

"What other possibilities?" Dad asked Uncle Dean. "All evidence leads to Andy being the killer."

"I don't think so, man."

"You had OJ convicted before he got out of his white bronco, but you have doubts about this."

"I'm just saying that he isn't the stone-cold killer type."

"Coming from the man who got his carjacked by said accusatory stone-cold killer."

"Go shove it, Liz."

I held my hands up in surrender.

"Besides," Uncle Dean continued, "OJ was guilty."

"Even so, how are we going to find him?"

Uncle Dean gave Dad an incredulous look. "I know…"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"Not necessarily an inconspicuous ride," Uncle Dean muttered as the three of us walked up to it. From the inside of his jacket, Uncle Dean pulled out a crow bar. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

With a loud clank, the back door creaked open to reveal the inside of a van right from the seventies (well, basing it off my knowledge from _That '70s Show_). There was a disco ball hanging over an unmade bed. A tiger poster was plastered in the wall, along with pictures of naked women. And, above all, there were a couple of bongs scattered among the blankets.

"This is magnificent, that's what it is," Uncle Dean said, pretty much in awe. "It doesn't look like a serial killer's lair, though."

Dad reached over and grabbed a book off the bed. It was bound in brown leather and, to be honest, looked like every other book on the planet.

"No scissors stuck in someone's photo…but the tiger…" Uncle Dean scratched his chin in contemplation.

"I believe it's a Bengal Tiger, if that helps," I said, crossing my arms.

Dad shook his head. "Hale. Cont. Lichtenstein. This is some pretty heavy reading."

"Yeah," Uncle Dean sighed as he grabbed the longest bong I have ever seen (not that I have seen many). "And Moby Dick's bong." He smiled wickedly at Dad, as if he was hinting at smoking a joint.

Dad just gave him an incredulous look.

"No," Dad simply told him, grabbing the bong out of his hands and threw it back into the van. They closed the doors, and we headed back into the alley for yet another stake-out.

But, on our way there, Uncle Dean went across the street saying that he was hungry. He disappeared into the minimart, and I was suddenly scared for my life. I was alone with Dad, who was probably still pissed at me for the whole having-a-random-guy's-number thing.

"Look, Liz, I trust you," he said. That was the last thing I expected to fall out of his mouth.

"Okay," I said, hesitantly.

"It's the boys I don't truth," he stated bluntly. "I know teenage boys. Believe it or not, I used to be one once."

"Really, I thought parents came from outer space, sent to earth to make children's lives a living hell."

"Not funny, Liz."

"I know."

"But, really, teenage boys are fucked up. They think mostly with their downstairs brain and rarely think of the consequences. I just…I just don't want you getting into that kind of mess. You're just way too young."

"I understand, Dad," I said. "I wasn't even going to call his number. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have the guts." I hated how I sounded so weak and pathetic.

"Good," Dad said, pulling me into the hug. "Also, you aren't allowed to date until your thirty-five."

"_Da-ad_!" I groaned, faking an annoying girl voice.

He released the hug. "We good?"

"Yeah, until the next time one of us screws up."

"So…until tomorrow?"

I smiled. "Yes Dad, until tomorrow. By the way, it's your turn to screw up."

"I know it is."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

A few minutes later, Uncle Dean came back with one of those microwavable sandwiches. It looked artery-clogging, and just plain-out disgusting. You couldn't pay me to eat something like that.

Dad looked over some papers, double checking to see if we had missed anything. I looked at the laptop. I probably should do some homework, but who does homework in the middle of a stake-out? I settled for playing my handheld video game.

When Uncle Dean was done, he tossed the foil into the back, hitting me in the face. Questionable juices leaked out onto my shirt. "Seriously?" I cried, throwing it back at him. It hit the back of his head. I smirked when I saw a bit of grease coating his hair. "What was that for?"

"You started it?"

"Seriously," Dad cried, "you two are acting like children. I expect something like this from Dean, but I thought you were more mature than this, Liz."

"HEY!" Uncle Dean and I said concurrently.

Dad chuckled lightly before turning serious. "What I don't get is the motive—"

"Well, Uncle Dean hit me in the fact, see, and—"

"Not about that. About Andy. The doc was squeaky clean. Why would he want to waste him?"

Uncle Dean shrugged. "If it was Andy."

"Dude, enough."

"What?"

"The doctor was mind controlled to step in front of the bus. Andy happens to have the power of mind control."

"I just don't think the guy has it in him."

"How the hell do you know? I mean, why are you bending over backwards to defend him."

Something in my gut told me we weren't alone. I sat up and looked out the back window to see Andy storming this way. I guess that saying was right: speak of the devil and he shall come….Or, something along those lines.

"Guys, we're not alone."

"You're not right about this," Uncle Dean accused, completely ignoring me.

"Hello?"

"About Andy?"

"HEY!" Andy suddenly appeared at Dad's side, leaning in through the open window. "Don't think I haven't noticed you guys. Why are you following me?"

"Well, we're lawyers," Dad said, always ready with a cover, "you see, a family member of yours—"

"Tell. Me. The. Truth."

"That's the—"

"We hunt demons," Uncle Dean said, his voice robotic.

"What?" Andy mumbled incredulously.

"Dean," Dad warned. But it was too late. Uncle Dean was under the spell.

"Demons, spirits, things your worst nightmare wouldn't touch. Sammy here, is my brother—"

"Dean! Shut up!"

"I'm trying. This here is my niece, Lizzie—"

"Oh, come on!"

"They're both psychic, like you. Well, not really like you. See, he thinks you're a murder—most likely Liz does too, but she only really talks if she has a snide comment to say and rarely has anything to say that is of use. They're afraid that they're going to become one themselves because you all are part of something that's terrible. I hope to hell that they're wrong, but I'm starting to get the feeling that they're right."

"Okay," Andy said, "leave me alone."

"Okay!" Uncle Dean said, cheerfully.

"Alright." Andy stormed off. Uncle Dean threw his head into his hands. Dad raced out of the car to chase after Andy. And I just sat there trying to figure out what had just happened.

I couldn't hear what Dad and Andy were saying, they were too far away. Uncle Dean told me to stay here, and he climbed out after them. I looked out the window. Dad motioned for Uncle Dean to not take a step closer as he tried to explain things to Andy—the truth about our hell-bent lives and how we were somehow connected.

When I saw the signs of Dad having a vision, I opened the door only to find myself, not in the alley, but in a gas station.

I was—or, should I say, I was _seeing someone_—pumping gas into their car. I noticed a leather-gloved hand, way to slender to be a man's. I must be inside a woman, which sounds so wrong and so many levels.

Her cell phone rang, and she answered it with an overly cheery, "Hello."

"Dowse yourself with gasoline and burn yourself," a man's voice said on the other line. I didn't know who it was, but it sure wasn't Andy's.

Uncle Dean was right, Andy wasn't the killer.

"Okay," she said, hanging up the phone.

Oh shit. This isn't good. This isn't good at all. This is very far from it, actually. Although I had just confirmed that Andy wasn't the killer, which means someone else with the smooth-talk ability was. This definitely added another layer to the already thick, wool blanket that was this mystery.

The woman leaned into her car and started the cigarette lighter. She then grabbed the gasoline hose and, just as the man on the cell phone said, began dowsing herself with the smelly liquid. I mentally yelled at her to stop, as if this would be the one time I would break through the barrier between simply watching the scene to changing the scene all together.

I could only hope.

"What the hell are you doing?" a station worker asked, starting to approach the woman. She simply held her hands up and said, "It's okay. Don't worry." She reached inside the car and grabbed the burning cigarette lighter.

"NO!" the man shouted. But it was too little, too late. The woman pressed the fire to her arm and she immediately erupted into flames.

I felt like I was burning alive. I wanted to scream in terror, but I couldn't, and there would be no point. The woman just took the heat, the pain. She laid down on the pavement, simply waiting to die.

I was suddenly back in the alleyway. Uncle Dean and Andy were both leaning over Dad, who was collapsed on the sidewalk. No one even noticed that I was lying on the ground.

I heard Dad accusing Andy of going to call the woman who set herself on fire, but I knew that wasn't the truth.

"She's already dead," I shouted, using the open door to stand up.

The three men looked over at me. Dad must've motioned to Uncle Dean to help me up because he was heading this way.

In the distance, I heard sirens. "It's too late," I told Uncle Dean as he held me steady. "I saw her. She's already dead."


	14. Twin

_Author's Note: Sorry about the lateness of this update. This site is being a pain right now and wouldn't let me access my "manage stories" page until today._

_Also, per suggestion of a friend of mine, she said that, since I can have individual pictures for stories now, that I should hold some sort of contest to see who can create an awesome "cover" for this story. I told her that I'm probably not popular enough right now to do this, but I figured I'd put this out anyway. So, it may not be a contest, but if you want to create a cover for either **Playing with Fire** or **Against it All**, go for it. I might throw something in on it._

_Anyway, you're probably sick of me babbling on, so I'll just stop._

**Chapter XIV - Twin**

"Go," Dad told Uncle Dean, who was already halfway in the Impala's driver's seat. "Not you," he scolded Andy when he started to head over this way. "You're staying with us."

I walked over to them, figuring that _us_ meant _Dad and me_.

"Look, Dad, she's dead. I saw it."

"You could have been mind-raping me," Dad suggested.

"You see your visions in a general point-of-view. I mind-rape people through their mind—no pun intended."

"What the hell is mind-rape?" Andy asked.

"It's my superpower," I said in a monotone voice. "It's kind of like his visions," I motioned towards Dad, "but I get them in real-time versus ahead of time."

Dad made a bitchface, most likely at my comment about it being a superpower. I could honestly care less right now. I feel like I was still a fire, as if I was still burning.

It was freaky.

The three of us awkwardly stood around. Dad kept a strong gaze of Andy, Andy started at his feet, and I looked anywhere but at the two of them. This whole day was getting weirder and weirder by the second. It seemed like ages ago that Uncle Dean and I were standing around at a gas station bickering about music while Dad finished up in the bathroom.

Then again, it doesn't feel like that entire long ago that I was a teenage girl whose only worries were homework, protagonists in books, and keeping caught up on television shows.

We all jumped when Dad's phone went off. He answered it with a hard, clipped, "Yeah." His tone implied that he wasn't in the mood to screw around right now.

As Dad listened to Uncle Dean (most likely it was Uncle Dean), his features became stiffer, his eyes darker. He did not like what he was hearing.

"When?" he asked. That word alone confirmed it: that chick that he saw in his visions and I mind-raped was dead—most likely burned by her own hand via suggestion from some unknown source, 'cause it sure wasn't Andy anymore.

"I dunno, man," Dad said, sounding tense. "Maybe Liz is right. I can't control them. I don't know what's going on."

Despite the dark situation, I couldn't help but feel smug. Finally, I got something right.

"But it doesn't make any sense," Dad muttered. Moments later, he hung up the phone and looked between Andy and me.

"So," Andy said, "has he confirmed that I'm not the killer?"

Dad stiffly nodded his head, as if he still didn't believe the events that transpired—that they confirmed that the man he thought was the killer all along wasn't the killer.

"Okay, so, now that we have that cleared, can you start explaining to me what the hell just happened here?"

Dad explained to Andy the finer workers of our messed up lives. The two of them walked over towards a pile of abandoned crates and sat down. I stayed put, selfishly wanting Dad to explain it all. I couldn't hear what the two of them were saying until Andy shouted, "That's impossible," and Dad went on to explain how it isn't.

"Yeah, but…death visions. That gotta suck." I heard Andy loud and clear, as if he wasn't trying to keep his voice down, whereas Dad was. He was probably worried about someone overhearing this conversation.

Slowly, I ventured towards the two of them and sat down next to Dad. He sadly looked at me, but Andy didn't seem to notice.

"When I got my powers or whatever, it was as if I had just won the lotto!"

"You still live in a van," Dad commented. Andy's face fell. "I mean, I don't get it. You could have anything you've ever wanted."

"I mean…I've got everything I need," Andy said, as close as to sheepishly as someone like him could get.

Silence fell over the three of us. "So, you're really not a killer?" Dad asked the question that had been hanging around the entire time in light of the recent turn of events.

Andy laughed. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"That's good," Dad said. "That's good for the three of us."

The rumble of the Impala broke our conversation. The three of us stood up as Uncle Dean parked his baby.

Uncle Dean climbed out of the Impala, already spouting off information. "The victim's name was Holly Becket. She's single."

"Who is she?" Dad asked Andy, hoping something would stay common: Andy knowing the victims.

Andy frowned and shrugged his shoulders. "Never heard of her."

"I called Ash on the way over. He came up with something. Apparently, Holly Becket gave birth when she was eighteen years old in '74. The year you were born, Andy."

Something along the lines of realization fell on Dad's face. "Andy, were you adopted?"

"Well, yeah," Andy said, as if it were common knowledge.

"You were," Uncle Dean said, his voice rising with anger, "and you neglected to tell us that?"

"It never really came up. I mean, I never knew my birth parents and, like you said," Andy pointed to Dad, "my adopted mom died when I was six-months-old."

"We could get a copy of the birth records," Uncle Dean suggested. "They're hard-copy only and protected in the county office."

Andy snorted. "Fuck that."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"I really shouldn't have let you kids in here," an old man security guard said as Andy tried to usher him out the door.

"Now, don't worry about a thing," Andy promised, practically shoving the man out of the room. "We've got everything under control. Go have a cup of coffee." And, to boot, he added, "These are not the droids you're looking for." Complete with the Jedi hand-motions.

"Awesome," Uncle Dean muttered, smiling at Andy's_ Star Wars_ reference. I had to admit, I cracked a meager smile for a second there.

"Got it," Dad said just as Uncle Dean and I placed some file boxes on the table. His voice was monotone, and sounded pretty damn tired, which is understandable since we have been up for over twenty-four hours now.

"What?" Andy asked as he came back from persuaded the guard out of the records room. He sat down next to Dad, his face slightly ashen.

"Holly Becket was your birth mother," Dad said.

Andy scoffed. "Does anyone have a vicodin?"

"Doctor Jennings (who I'm guessing was the guy who originally shot himself, but then ended up stepping in front of the bus when that failed) was also her doctor. He oversaw the adoption." Dad looked up from the file to look at Andy. "You have a solid connection with both of them."

"But I didn't kill 'em."

"We believe you," Uncle Dean affirmed.

Dad turned sharply towards Uncle Dean after his comment. The two of them seemed to have a conversation with their eyes. I couldn't tell what was "said", but Dad eventually muttered, "Yeah."

"Then who did?" I asked.

"I think I have a pretty good guess," Dad said, suddenly acting sheepish. "Holly Becket gave birth to twins."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

All my life, I have wanted siblings. Many of my friends have complained about their little brothers or sisters breaking their things, or older ones who were being emo. But when you are an only child, a constant third wheel with your parents, it gets old really quick.

I remember vague explanations of a possible brother, but my memory deceits me and I don't remember what happened to him, or if he even existed in the first place. I never asked my parents, in fear of sounding like a moron.

But, still, I've always wanted siblings.

So, if I had ever found out that I had siblings, say, before my mom was killed, I would have been ecstatic. Of course, finding out you are going to have a brother or sister must be different then finding out that you _already_ have a brother or sister and you never knew they existed before this.

Plus, finding out that they might be murderous doesn't help any.

"I have an evil twin," Andy muttered, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. He had his arms wrapped around his head. I honestly couldn't blame him for acting this way. It seemed more like a natural reaction then the one between Lindsay Lohan and herself on _The Parent Trap_.

Dad stood up to give him some obviously needed space. Dad whispered to Uncle Dean and he headed towards the computers in the back corner. I stuck to a neighboring shelving unit with file boxes piled up to the ceiling. This was Andy's and Dad's revelation moment, I think. I couldn't help but compare this like the meeting with Max, except we know that Andy isn't a murderer, and he might (in some weird, messed up way) end up being an ally.

To be honest, I don't know how I feel about that.

"Holly put you and your brother up for adoption," Dad said, pacing around the table, "I mean, you went to the Gallagher family…obviously. And your brother went to the Weems family upstate."

"Hey Andy, how you doing?" Uncle Dean asked, which was a legitimate question. Andy looked like he was going to be sick.

"Um…" I guess Andy didn't know what to say to Uncle Dean, so he instead asked Dad, "What was my brother's name?"

"Uh…Anson Weems," Dad answered. Andy gaped at him. "He's got a local address," he said, in hopes that maybe that would help him.

"He lives here!" Andy cried.

"Let's get a look at him," Uncle Dean said, appearing behind me. He stood by a printer, and hovered his hand over the tray. "We should be getting records from the DMV soon—" the printer created an angry noise, like many printers tend to do when they start to print something, "—Okay. Right about now."

A small pile of papers landed in the tray. Uncle Dean grabbed them while it was still hot, and studied them closely while wandering towards Dad and Andy. I sidestepped so that I stood on Dad's other side.

"I'd hate to kick you while you're freaked," Uncle Dean muttered, "but check this out." He handed Andy the bottom page, which looked like contained a blown-up photocopy of Anson Weems' driver's license.

Andy's eyes lit up. "Holy shit," he said, "It's…it's Weber!"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We were barreling-ass down the road. Andy sat in the back of the Impala with me. I was squished to one-side, since Andy insisted that he leaned against the middle of the front seat, like I usually would. If it was any other situation, I would have told him to move over, but there were more important things at stake then whether I'm comfortable or not.

By putting the pieces together, I have concluded that this Weber person was a busboy at the diner that Dad and Uncle Dean stopped at when we first got to Guthrie. He started working at the diner about eight months ago, and he acted like him and Andy were best buddies.

"So," Uncle Dean said, after hearing Andy's minor description of Weber/Anson, "he must've known you were twins. But, why change his name? Why not tell you the truth?"

Andy frowned. "I dunno."

I felt a sharp pain in my head. It felt like my head was splitting in two. I had no clue on what was going on around me. The world blurred until it focused on a woman. She was beautiful—blonde, curvy, a man's dream girl. She was standing on a bridge above a dam. Well, more accurately: she was standing on the _railing_ above a dam. It had to be a good one-hundred feet from where she stood to the cement bottom. Despite this fact, the woman stepped off the railing and plunged to her death.

I was ripped from the nightmare. I was in the back of the Impala, sitting next to Andy who was constantly asking what the hell was going on. I looked over at Dad, his breathlessness confirming my theory: he had a vision, and I mind-raped him, thus seeing the vision for myself.

I hadn't realized Uncle Dean had pulled over until he appeared at Dad's side. Dad didn't tell him much; just that some girl named Tracy was going to kill herself by jumping off the bridge. I had no clue who this Tracy character was, but Andy's face paled immediately after hearing who it was.

Undoubtedly, Anson Weems was going to strike again.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

When we were a good block away from the bridge, Uncle Dean pulled over. He and Dad immediately went to the trunk to prepare some weapons to face off against Anson Weems and save the damsel in distress.

"I don't know about you," Andy said, after a few moments of silence, "but there is no way in hell I'm going to sit back."

As Andy climbed out, I was right behind him. Screw staying behind the sidelines. I have already failed when it came to dealing with the aftermath of this yellow-eyed demon. There's no way I can pass up an opportunity to at least stop one of his children from murdering someone. It can't possibly make up for what I had done, but it was a damn good start.

"I'm coming with you," Andy said, his voice without his usual bravado.

"Ditto," I said. I tucked my own gun in the waistband of my jeans, just like I had seen Dad and Uncle Dean do. No more pathetic, little girl Lizzie.

Dad looked torn. "Andy, Liz—"

"It's Tracy out there," Andy stated bluntly, "and I need to help."

I didn't have a good reason like that for helping, so I just gave Dad what I hoped was a copy of his trademark bitchface.

Wordlessly, Dad nodded. Uncle Dean hung back, since he was a major liability in this fight, and the three of us headed towards the bridge.

There was only one car on the bridge—a real beater. I saw two figures in the car, and figured that they had to belong to Anson and Tracy. Dad drew his gun, and I did the same. Andy awkwardly stood behind us, completely weaponless.

This probably won't end well.

Dad gave us our orders. When Andy and I nodded in understanding, the three of us ran forward, my mind on autopilot. Dad, using his casted arm, smashed the window next to Anson. "_Get out of the car now!_" he shouted, his voice a low, menacing growl. The two of us held our guns up. I couldn't help but notice how bad my aim is.

"You really don't want to do that," Anson said, his voice just as menacing as Dad's. He probably expected us to obey. Instead, Dad punched him in the face.

In my peripheral, I watched Andy usher Tracy out of the car. Well, one good thing came out of today, despite all the shit that was thrown at us: we saved Tracy.

Dad threw the door open and dragged Anson out of the car. I kept a gun (hopefully) pointed at him as Dad shoved him to the ground, and dug a knee into his back to stay down. Andy ran around the car, the roll of duct tape at the ready. His hastily ripped off a piece, and shoved it on Anson's mouth.

That's when Dad's seemingly foolproof plan fell apart.

Now, Andy, for the most part, is this mellow, not necessarily level-headed, but certainly not violent guy. Of course, we never factored in his reaction towards meeting his friend who he just found out was his murderous twin brother. He started kicking him in the chest, sending him sideways into the pavement. Dad attempted to keep Andy away, telling him that he got things handled.

Another thing we didn't factor in: Tracy going rogue. Or, Anson persuading her to go rogue. It must have been a precautionary thing he had set up, because she was suddenly behind the two of them. She had a huge branch in her hands, and, before I could stop her, lunged down and hit Dad over the head with it. He was sent sprawling, and he remained unmoving.

As she went for Andy, he shouted, "STOP!" She pushed forward. "TRACY! STOP!" Slowly, she stopped going for Andy. Anson removed his duct tape, and groaned in pain.

I kept my gun trained on Anson. I expected Andy to start beating him up again, which I was totally going to allow. But, instead, he asked, "How'd you do that?"

Okay, now I was confused.

"Practice, bro," Anson said, as if they were talking about shooting a basketball and not controlling people's minds. He threw down the wad of duct tape, and continued on with his evil villain monologue. "Sometimes, you don't need to use your words." He tapped his temple. "You use this."

Now it made sense. This was planned. Anson used his _mind_ to _persuade_ Tracy to hit Dad over the head with the branch. Oddly, that made more sense.

"You twisted son of a bitch," Andy shouted, as he went for his brother again. I was about to throw my own punch when Anson shouted, "You, shoot Andy in the leg."

Shrugging, I shifted my aim and pulled the trigger. Andy flew back into the beater, clutching his shin for dear life. I just stared between him and the gun. Earlier, I could ignore Andy's orders, almost as easily as ignoring Ryan Forfinski. But Anson must be more powerful than him by ten-fold. I didn't even get a chance to think my actions through.

Chuckling, Anson leaned down, "Now, Tracy is going to do a little flying."

Immediately, I looked up to see her standing on the ledge, almost exactly like in Dad's vision. Without even thinking, I ran to help her.

_STOP!_

I didn't.

"I said STOP!"

I did, mid step.

I was just a few feet from Tracy. Whatever is with Anson's abilities, I was only affected by them if Anson verbally tells me to do something. His freaky mind mojo has no effect on me.

Why must my abilities be so bipolar?

"I could do it, you know," Anson said.

"Okay, okay," Andy said. I couldn't see what he was doing, but I was sure that he was holding his hands up in surrender. "Alright, please, just…just don't hurt her."

"Don't be mad at me," Anson said, "I know, it is all wrong. I didn't mean for this to happen. It's just…Tracy, she's coming between us."

"What are you saying?" Andy asked, his voice low.

"She's garbage! They all are. We can push them. We can do whatever we want!"

"Are you re—are you really this stupid? You learned you got a twin. You ask to go out for a drink, you _don't start killing people_."

"I wanted to tell you for so long," Anson insisted. "But he wouldn't let me. He said I had to wait until the time was—"

"Who?"

"The man with the yellow eyes."

It felt like my heart stopped beating. Yellow-eyes…he played a bigger role in this than I first perceived. He caused this—most likely intentionally. He was testing us, pushing us to our limits. First us with Grandpa, and now them.

"What are you talking about?" Andy cried.

"He came to me," Anson said, "in my dream. He said I was special. He told me he had big plans for me. Wait until we see what's in store for the both of us. He's the one who told me I had a brother…a twin.

"Why did you kill our mother? Why did you kill Doctor Jennings."

"Because _they split us up_!" Anson shouted. "They ruined our lives. We could have been together this whole time, instead of alone. I couldn't let them get away with that….No!"

A few beats of silence followed Anson's words. In a low, tempting voice, Anson said, "I see you."

Uncle Dean!

"Buh-buy."

A gunshot rang through the silence. I took a couple steps and fell into the pavement. I looked back to see Andy standing there, holding the gun that fell from Dad's hands, and Anson Weems in a crumpled heap.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

By morning, Andy had cops and everyone convinced that Anson had shot himself. He even told them that Uncle Dean, Dad, Tracy, and I didn't need to give a statement.

Once his job was done, Andy headed towards the three of us, who were leaning against a pillar. "She won't even look at me," Andy said. I'm guessing that _she_ was Tracy.

"Yeah, she's pretty shaken up," Dad noted.

"I just…I never use my mind thing on her," Andy said, "well, before last night." He sighed. "She's scared of me now."

"Look, Andy, I'd hate to do this to you, but we need to go."

Andy just scuffed.

"Here, I wrote down my cell." Dad handed over one of the fake business cards he used when he posed as an FBI agent. He wrote his personal cell down on the blank side. "Call me anytime. You don't need to be alone in this, alright? If anything comes up, you call me up."

Andy only nodded. The three of us started walking away when he started making unintelligible noises. "Wha…what am I supposed to do now?"

Without missing a beat, Uncle Dean said, "You be good, Andy. Or we will be back."

As we made our way to the Impala, Dad said, "I guess I was right."

"About what?" Uncle Dean prompted.

"About Andy," Dad answered. "How he's a killer."

Uncle Dean shook his head. "He's a hero. He saved his girlfriend, plus he saved my life."

"Last night he wasted somebody."

"Yeah, well, he's not a foaming at the mouth psycho. He's just—he was pushed into that."

"Weber was pushed in his own way. Max Miller was pushed. Hell, even I was pushed after Jessica's death."

"What about me?"

Dad and Uncle Dean turned toward me. They probably forgot I was there as well.

"What?" Dad muttered, confused.

"You keep going on about how you and everyone like you are a bunch of murderers."

"It's true!"

"It is not true," I retaliated. "I had the goddamn Colt in my hand. I had it pointing right at the demon and, guess what. I couldn't even pull the freaking trigger."


	15. Waitress

**Chapter XV - Waitress**

Some people sleep better when it is raining because of the sound and whatnot. I find the roar of Uncle Dean's Impala soothing. The moment he cut the engine, I was wide awake. I was sleeping per say. It was more like dozing.

Through bleary eyes, I looked out the window. We had arrived at Harvelle's Roadhouse, in all its rustic glory. It was pretty barren, since it was the middle of the day. It looked a lot different than at night. You can tell the age of it better.

"After this," Uncle Dean said, as the two of them climbed out of the Impala. I was close behind them. "Los Angeles, California."

"What's in California?" Dad asked, circling around the front.

"A girl was kidnapped by a cult."

"Who?"

"Katy Holmes."

I rolled my eyes. Uncle Dean would suggest that. Dad simply laughed. "That is typical for you. Yet, so bitchy."

As if on cue, the sound of glass breaking and Ellen yelling came from the roadhouse. "Although," Uncle Dean muttered, pointing a thumb behind him, "cat fight."

"I AM YOUR MOTHER I DON'T HAVE TO BE REASONABLE!" Ellen shouted. We could hear her loud and clear from the porch. Even Dad hesitated at the door. An angry Ellen is probably a very scary sight. I'd hate to be Jo right now.

"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE!"

"OH, YOU CAN BET ON THAT, SWEETIE!"

Finally, Dad opened the door. I kept behind the two of them to give a barrier between me and the fight.

"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? CHAIN ME IN THE BASEMENT?"

"YOU'VE HAD WORSE IDEAS THAN THAT REASONING! YOU KNOW WHAT. STAY. DON'T STAY. GO BACK TO SCHOOL."

"I DON'T WANT TO GO THERE. I WAS A FREAK WITH A KNIFE COLLECTION!"

"YEAH, GETTING KILLED IN SOME DUSTY BACK ROAD, THAT'S WHERE YOU BELONG!"

The yelling fit stopped the moment the two of them notice Dad, Uncle Dean, and me standing there. In a much, _much_ calmer voice, Ellen said, "Bad timing guys."

"Yes, we know, ma'am," Dad said, in a very polite voice.

"Yeah, we rarely drink before ten anyways," Uncle Dean said, in a snide voice. It's amazing how different the two of them can be sometimes.

The three of us were heading towards a table in the back when Jo stopped us. "Wait, I want to know what they think of this."

Just then, a family walked in, all wearing "Nebraska is for Lovers" shirts—complete with a heart where the "o" in "lovers" should be. With all the monsters I have seen, tourists probably take the cake on being the scariest. You either get the overly cheery ones, or the bitchy ones. They all suck either way.

"I don't care what they think," Ellen cried, completely oblivious to the family that just walked in.

"Are you guys open?" the father asked.

Ellen and Jo gave opposite answers at the same time. It was hard to tell which one said no and which one said yes.

The mother and the father looked at each other incredulously. They were obviously freaked at the family feud going on. "We'll just…check out the Arby's down the road," the father said, pointing a thumb at the door. They couldn't leave fast enough.

Once they were out, the phone started ringing. Jo and Ellen looked at each other, fighting with just facial expression on who should pick it up. Eventually, Ellen broke down and ran around the bar to pick it up. "Harvelle's," Ellen said in a clipped tone. From there, I couldn't hear what she was saying. Which didn't matter, since Jo started talking to us.

"Last week, a young girl disappears from a Philadelphia apartment," she said, holding out a file. Uncle Dean just stared at her. "Take it. It won't bite."

"Yeah, but your mom might."

Jo just shook it a little. Uncle Dean hastily grabbed it from her hand, not taking his eyes off hers.

"This girl wasn't the first," Jo went on. "Over the past eighty years, these girls have vanished. All from the same building. All of them blondes. It happens only a decade or two, which is why police haven't picked up on the pattern. So, we are either dealing with one old serial killer, or—"

"How'd you get all this?" Uncle Dean interrupted. "Ash?"

"I did it all myself," Jo said, sounding rather proud of herself.

"Hmm," Uncle Dean mumbled, not sounding convinced.

"You know, we've hit the road for a lot less," Dad stated.

Ellen hung up the phone. "Good. If you like the case so much, you take it then."

"Mom!" Jo shouted.

"Johanna Beth, this family has lost enough. I won't lose you, too. I just won't."

I really hope I'm not the only one in this room who was confused.

We awkwardly walked away from them, and started heading outside when Dad said, "I just need to confirm something with Ellen real quick."

"Godspeed," I told him as he ventured back inside. Uncle Dean and I headed to the Impala. He opened up the trunk, rummaging around—most likely organizing his weapons. It was the only compartment in some order in the trunk.

A few moments later, Dad walked out of the roadhouse. "Well," he said, stopping by the trunk next to Uncle Dean, "they're still up for it."

"Up for what?" I asked, hating how I was, yet again, out of the loop.

"Uh…I need to go take a leak," Uncle Dean said, heading towards the back of the roadhouse. Real classy.

I looked at Dad, waiting for some answers. He sighed deeply before he began. "I think that after what happened in Guthrie that you take a little break."

"What?" I cried, feeling rage boil inside me. This cannot be happening.

"It's just for a few days," Dad assured. "Dean and I'll just go on this job, and then we'll come get you afterwards. It'll be three…four days tops."

"But, Dad, I barely know them. I talked to Jo and Ellen for all of five minutes the first time I met them, which was, by the way, just a couple of days ago."

"They're good people, Liz," Dad said. "Besides, I think it'll be good for you."

"_Good for me_," I needlessly repeated. "I finally speak up about what was bothering me, and your solution is to just drop me off somewhere. Where's the Dad I know that will take on any challenge."

"This isn't a challenge," Dad said, his voice rising. "I think this'll be good for you."

"First you just leave me with Bobby, and now you are leaving me with Jo and Ellen." Angrily, I grab my duffle from the trunk, and slam the door shut. "I think I'm starting to see a pattern here." With that, I turned sharply on my heels, and trudged over to the roadhouse.

"Mary Elizabeth, come back here! We aren't done discussing this."

"What?" I said, innocently. "You want to leave me. Fine. Here's your chance."

Before he could say another word, I rush into the roadhouse, the door closing behind me. Jo crossed her arms and said, "Don't you just love parents."

I rolled my eyes. "Almost as much as getting teeth pulled."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"You can take the room on the left," Ellen explained, significantly nicer than just a few minutes ago. It probably helped that she ordered Jo to clean the already spotless tables before deciding to show me where I was going to be staying for the next whoever knows how long.

We climbed the narrow staircase that lead to the second floor. The room itself was small, with a worn bed and a desk. I placed my duffle on the desk while Ellen told me to make myself at home, and to come downstairs when I was ready for a class of Waitressing 101. I guess I get to work while I'm here.

In my anger and haste, I had forgotten my messenger bag in the backseat. It had my laptop, MP3 player, cell phone…pretty much everything that would be considered entertainment. Of course, without the laptop, I couldn't do any of my homework. If I get marked down for missing deadlines….But, without my cell phone, Dad didn't have a way to call me, unless he called Harvelle's phone. That actually made me smile a little.

With nothing else to do, I headed back down to the main part of the roadhouse. Already, a few people filtered in for the lunch rush. Of course, I don't know if there was going to be a lunch rush. I have only been here late at night.

"Alright," Jo said, tossing me an apron and a fancy note taker, "the key to working at this place is to not take any crap from anybody."

"Living with Uncle Dean, I am a pro."

"I can see that," Jo said, an odd smile on her face. "Anyway, it's pretty straight forward. Just take their orders, deliver their drinks, don't piss them off, and don't get pissed off yourself."

"Okay," I said, tying the apron around me.

"We only give change from the register," Jo said, pointing to it just by Ellen, who was counting money from it. "Hunters are sneaky bastards. They'll pick pocket you, and sometimes you can't tell."

"Okay," I repeated, not really knowing what else to say.

"Any questions?"

"What happens if there is a bar fight?"

"You better have a mean right hook, or some good guys close by."

"I'm good a dodging," I said.

Jo shrugged. "Close enough." She pointed to a couple of hunters that had just walked in. "Why don't you start off with them. They order the same thing every time they come in. Even if you do screw up, I can catch it."

Surprisingly, I didn't screw up. I took their order, being cute about it, hoping for some nice tips. They said what they wanted, and I relayed it to Jo, who seemed pleased. She quickly made their drink order, and let me at it.

There was, indeed, a lunch rush. After being forced to memorize facts in an instant, keeping orders straight was no big deal. Rarely did I have to ask who ordered what. Even Ellen seemed impressed, and I figured she'd be criticizing every little move I make.

Before I knew it, the lunch rush was over, and the dinner and evening folks were filtering in. Ash actually came out of his little cave of his (fully clothed, thank god!). He seemed shocked to see me without Dad and Uncle Dean around. Thankfully, a crowded table ushered me over before I had to explain to him.

"What can I get you guys?" I asked, pen and pad at the ready.

One of the older gentlemen (and I use the term _very_ loosely around here) was staring at me. "You're the Winchester daughter, right?"

I was shocked that he actually knew. Dad and Uncle Dean, other than Bobby, Ash, and the Harvelles, try to stay away from other hunters, especially after Gordon Walker. Hesitantly, I told him yes, getting ready in case I had to put my dodging skills to the test.

"No way," one of the younger patrons muttered, "I heard you snuck behind Johnny's back to help him out when he didn't want it."

How in the world he knew that was beyond me. I mean, I thought that had stayed in the family. Of course, who knows what Uncle Dean had told Gordon Walker, and how much info he relayed to other hunters about us.

"Yeah," I said. "He didn't even realize that I was in his truck." Might as well sugarcoat it.

Someone gave a low whistle. "You pulled a fast one passed him. Fuck, you're already a pro at this."

I awkwardly smiled at him, not really knowing what to say to this.

"Okay," the previous man said, "I just want to know…is it true?"

"What's true?"

"That…that you killed the demon that killed your family with the Colt…while it was possessing John?"

"Okay, out! You all _OUT_!"

I hadn't realized that Ellen came to intervene until she was ushering me towards the back, away from the main part of the bar.

"—I said, are you okay?"

Reality came crashing around me. "Uh…yeah, I guess." That's when I caught a glimpse of myself in the window. I was pale, and shaking. I looked the complete opposite of okay.

"Yeah," Ellen muttered, not believing a word of it. "Look, why don't you just head up."

"No, I'm fine," I said. I wasn't going to let her think I was a weak, pathetic girl. "I can handle this."

Ellen kept a firm grasp on my shoulders. I hadn't realized that she was hanging on to me. To be honest, I would probably fall over the moment she released me.

"Go on up," Ellen said. "It's about time I start kicking people out anyway."

Reluctantly, I walked up to the bedroom, by myself. The moment I got inside the tiny room, I crashed on the bed. I fell asleep and relieved the nightmare that continues to plague me. This time, Ellen was added to the ever-lengthening list of people taunting me.


	16. Turbulence

**Chapter XVI - Turbulence**

"Hey, wake up!"

"Come on, Dad, five more minutes."

"That's nice, but I ain't your dad, nor am I giving you five minutes."

Blinking harshly, I tried to focus on the figure right in front of me. Jo was leaning against the wall perpendicular to the bed I was currently occupying. She was dressed and ready for action.

"What time is it?" I asked, rubbing sleep away from my eyes.

"Too early," Jo said. "This is why we need to get going. Hurry up and get dressed. Grab your stuff and meet me downstairs ASAP."

She walked out, leaving me confused. She might as well be speaking Chinese. I could probably figure it out more easily. But, I followed instructions, and met her downstairs, ready in less than three minutes.

"So, what's with dragging me out of bed at," I looked at the analog clock on the opposite wall, "four-thirty in the morning?"

"We have a plane to catch," Jo said, simply, as if we were talking about something as trivial as the weather.

"Plane…as in the vehicle with wings, crappy films, fat, old men snoring in your ear, and dirt-old peanuts."

"Yep."

Without even hesitating, I turned on my heels and started going back up the stairs. Jo grabbed my arm and pulled me back onto the ground.

"Come on, Liz," she practically begged. "We're going to Philly."

"As in where the serial killer is," I said, starting to wake up. My brain was slowly putting two and two together.

"It's my job," Jo said, seething. "I did the research. I deserve to be part of the action."

"Look, I dunno," I said. "You're mom scares me, and if she found out—"

"She's not going to find out. Look, I had Ash set up a credit card trail to Omaha. As far as she's going to know, we are going on a girl'cation with a spa trip and a visit to the zoo."

I sighed deeply. "So, you are going behind your mother's back, you expect me to do the same, and accept whatever fate that is in store for me because, newsflash, _my dad is obviously going to find out since we are going right to him!"_

"What's more rebellious than doing the exact opposite of what he wants? He told you to stay, so you _should_ go."

Either I wanted to pull the rebellious teenager card, or I was still too tired to have a certain level of judgment, but I told her yes.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The last time I was on a plane, there was a murderous demon possessing people in order to kill everyone who was on a certain flight. What I really remembered most was Uncle Dean humming Metallica in order to keep calm.

Being on the plane with Jo was pretty uneventful. I tried to keep myself entertained with a two-year-old gossip magazine. I wasn't even interested in this stuff then. I didn't even know half the people featured in it. Then again, I wouldn't in an up-to-date one, either.

"So, what's the plan," I said, closing the magazine after seeing an advertisement for flavored condoms.

Jo looked up from the file. Before she even suggested it to Ellen, she had made copies of all her research. Smart move on her part. "This," she simply said, handing me a copy of a newspaper cut-out advertising an apartment for lease or rent.

"So, let me guess: you plan on renting this apartment, occupying it, scoping out the place, and hope that the killer or whatever it is doesn't get to you since you fit the bill as far as the other victims go."

Jo shrugged. "Yeah."

The PA system crackled above head. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We appear to be experiencing some minor turbulence…."

The captain had no idea.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

After the plane landed in Philadelphia International Airport, Jo and I hailed down a cab to take us to the haunted apartment building. On the way there, Jo gave me the specs on our fake identities.

"Our last name is Llewellyn," Jo explained, "keeping our first names. You are, however, my younger sister. Our parents died in a car accident, and that is why you live with me."

I only nodded. The closer we got to the apartment building, the stronger and more prevalent the flips my stomach was doing. This reminded me too much of my plan to help Grandpa, which I had to go behind my Dad's back to do. This was exactly the same situation…well, damn close.

"You okay?" Jo asked. The cab suddenly jerked to a stop. I couldn't believe we were already at the apartment building.

"I'm good," I said. Jo paid the driver, and the two of us climbed out. The apartment building didn't seem too shabby. Granted, it was in need of a little TLC, but it could survive without it.

We were greeted at the front office by a portly man in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He said that his name was Ed. Jo introduced us as Jo and Liz Llewellyn. She did it so effortlessly; it was almost like going along with whatever cover story Dad and Uncle Dean came up with.

"We're here about the apartment," Jo continued, keeping up with the charade.

Ed looked at us skeptically. "You do realize it's only a one-bedroom, right?"

"Yep," Jo said. "I'll just force her to sleep in the bathtub."

"Hey!" I said, placing my hands dramatically on my hips. "Now that's not fair!"

"Life's not fair, little sis," Jo teased. "So, can we check it out or what?"

Wordlessly, Ed ushered us up the stairs. He went on explaining the schematics of the apartment beyond what he already announced. When we made it to the floor the apartment was on, we rounded a corner, and I froze when I saw Dad and Uncle Dean.

"The hell you doing here?" Uncle Dean asked. Behind him, Dad's lips and eyebrows made perfect parallel lines. To say the least, he was not pleased.

"There you are, honey," Jo said, stopping by Uncle Dean's side. She wrapped an arm around his waist. "This is my boyfriend, Dean, and his buddy, Sam."

This girl should go to Broadway. She knows how to improvise on the fly. I would've tried to play along, but Dad kept shooting me daggers. I was afraid that he would kill me with some Jedi mind powers.

I barely followed the conversation that transpired. The next thing I realized, Jo had a huge wad of cash (how'd she get that passed security?) and announcing that we'll take it.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Dad never said a word to me, not even when we got into the safety of the apartment. He just went on cleaning the guns while Uncle Dean and Jo bickered. To be honest, they would make a cute couple.

"Flip you for the sofa," Jo said, as if the two of us suddenly being here was in everyone's plan. It was amazing how calm she was about this whole thing. Then again, her mother didn't know she was here yet, whereas my father did.

"Does your mom even know you're here?" Uncle Dean asked, looking up from the gun he was cleaning.

"Told her Liz and I were going to Omaha."

"I was promised a trip to the zoo," I muttered, unable to pipe up a sarcastic remark. Dad glared at me, his eyes screaming me to shut the hell up. I held my hands up in surrender.

Ignoring me, Uncle Dean continued on. "And she believed you?"

"I'm not an idiot. I got Ash to leave a credit card trail all the way to the zoo."

Uncle Dean shook his head. "You know, you shouldn't lie to your mom."

"Amen," Dad mumbled. My stomach sank even deeper.

"You shouldn't be here either."

"What's the difference between me being here versus Liz?"

"The difference is that we can tell Liz to stay here," Uncle Dean said.

"I think that this kind of proves that you really can't do that."

"That's it," Dad said, standing up. "You—me—outside, Liz."

Well, hell.

I followed him out to the hallway. He closed the door behind us, and turned sharply to face me. Despite his already Sasquatchian size, he looked twice as tall, or I felt twice as short.

"Why did you come here, Liz? Why didn't you stay at the roadhouse?"

"Well, it was Jo's idea," I said. "Really, I was just part of her scheme to get out here."

"And if she told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?"

"No, because jumping off a bridge is a stupid move."

"And what do you call this?"

"The need to be a hero. Teenage rebellion. The fact that I was tired. Pick whichever one you want."

"You know, I'm really sick of your attitude."

"And I'm really sick of you treating me like a child."

"Because you are."

"No, I'm not."

"You're my child and I can't watch you get hurt again."

Silence followed Dad's words. I thought that this feeling—whether it be remorse, hatred, or the like—couldn't get worse. I was wrong. It multiplied tenfold.

"Dad," I began, choosing my words carefully, "I've been a part of this fight for over a year, now." Okay, so far so good. "I've seen things that…that most kids my age hadn't seen beyond movies and television shows. It's too late to keep me in the dark about this." By now, my mouth was just forming words, despite my brain telling it to stop. "I'm part of this fight, whether you like it or not."

He continued to remain silent. It was hard to read his face. It lacked physical emotion. I was pretty sure that was not a good thing.

"Look Liz," Dad said, "I know that I haven't done the best to keep you out of harm's way. I've tried like hell to keep you out of hunts, but you always seem to get yourself caught up in the madness. First was the whole demon business, and then came the shifter and then the poltergeist and getting kidnapped by Sue Ann, just…just everything else that went on. Letting you go into the fight with Anson was a stupid move on my part. It seems like…it seems like you need to prove something to me."

"I do need to prove something to you," I cried. "I screwed up. I let the demon live, and Grandpa blamed me for Uncle Dean being in a coma, and the fact that…that…"

"That what?"

"Never mind," I mumbled. "Look, I'm just sick of everyone treating me like a little girl."

"No one is—"

"Yes, there is. You were when you left me at Bobby's. You were when you left me at the roadhouse. You are right now—this very minute." I hadn't realized that I was shouting until I heard the echo run the length of the hallway.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Liz," Dad said.

I didn't know what to say, if I should say anything at all at this point.

"I'm sorry for running away," I said. "Well, I don't know if it would be called running away, since I intensive purposes ran _to_ you."

Dad sighed deeply. "Call it what you will," he said, "but you're still grounded."

"Wait…when was I grounded?"

"Starting the moment I saw you here," he said. "No phone, no music, and no computer except for schoolwork."

I rolled my eyes. "Fair enough. I'm sure that's a cake walk compared to the hell Ellen has in store for Jo the moment she realizes that she isn't in Omaha."

"I think I hear the "Imperial March" already."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The moment Dad and I went back into the apartment, the dreaded research began. Of course, that's what I should've expected. There was always the dreaded research.

"This place was built in 1924," Jo announced, after we had poured over blue prints and newspaper articles for the last hour or so. "It was originally a warehouse converted into apartments a few months ago." She twirled a knife in her hand like someone would twirl a pencil while in a boring class.

"Yeah? What was here before 1924?" Uncle Dean was pacing behind her, obviously sick of all the research we have to do. I wanted to quit as well, but I knew better not to.

"Nothing. An empty field."

"So, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building and came back raising hell."

"Already checked," Jo said, "in the past eighty-two years, zero violent deaths other than a janitor slipped on a wet floor. Would you sit down, please?" she asked, pointing her knife at Uncle Dean.

Sighing, Uncle Dean sat down adjacent to Jo. "So, have you checked the police reports? County death records?"

"Obituaries, more obituaries, and seven other sources," Jo stated, matter-o'-factly. "I know what I'm doing."

"The jury's still out on that one."

Jo rolled her eyes. No one said a word until Uncle Dean said, "Would you put the knife down?"

She glared at Uncle Dean and slowly put the knife down next to the open file. Dad cleared his throat. "So, it's something else then. Maybe a cursed object with a spirit with it…."

"We'd have to scan the entire building. Every place we can get to, right?" Jo looked between Dad and Uncle Dean.

"Right," Uncle Dean agreed. "You and me will take the top two floors." Before anyone could protest, he stood up.

"It'll go faster if we split up," Jo said, standing up to face Uncle Dean.

"This is non-negotiable."

The two of them stared each other for what felt like a long time. Eventually, Dad stood up and said, "Fine, Liz and I'll take the other floors."

I looked between him, and Uncle Dean and Jo. It was hard to tell which situation would be scarier.


	17. Moyamensing

**Chapter XVII - Moyamensing**

Dad and I came up short. We checked the floors many times over. The only good thing about this is that we both remained silent, only talking to each other when necessary.

We beat Uncle Dean and Jo back to the apartment. Dad tried calling Uncle Dean's cell phone, but it rang somewhere in the apartment.

"That's special," Dad muttered, slamming his phone shut. A few seconds later, his phone went off, and he looked at the screen expectantly. His expression darkened as he pressed the button to silence the annoying tone.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"No one important," he said, placing the phone down on the table. Just then, the door opened and Uncle Dean and Jo walked inside. Before anyone could say anything, he held up a chunk of blonde hair with some of the scalp still attached to it.

"Found this in a heater vent," Uncle Dean said, putting the evidence next to Dad's phone.

"I think it's from one of the victims," Jo said, "and, I'm not a coroner, but I'm guessing that it must have come from a more recent victim."

"It's hard to tell," Dad said, gingerly picking it up and placing a paper towel underneath. "But, it only proves what we already know."

"Even so," Uncle Dean said, "we know where we found it. So we'll just have to go back later to investigate."

"Why not go now?" Jo asked, sounding impatient.

"Because, I'm starving," he stated bluntly. "Come on. Dinner's on Jo."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

It was, to say the least, the most awkward night of my life. Jo and Uncle Dean, indeed, flipped for the couch, not even offering if Dad and I wanted in on it. Jo won, causing Uncle Dean to get the chair on counts of "he was the oldest." So, Dad and I were shunned to the not-so comfortable floor. No matter how many blankets I piled underneath me, I couldn't get comfortable, no matter which way I flipped.

Somehow, Dad and Uncle Dean were asleep in minutes. It was probably the many beers they had at the bar across the street. Jo was sitting at the table, pouring over her research, not even sleeping on the couch.

Slowly, as to not jar Dad, I stood up, my back already cracking from only the first hour of sleeping on the floor. I do not understand how people actually want to tent camp and sleep on the ground.

I hobbled over to the table and leaned over Jo's research. "If you're not even going to sleep, can I get the couch?" I asked in a low whisper.

Not even turning to face me, Jo said, "Whatever."

Before I stood to full height, Dad's cell phone caught my eye. I quickly snatched it up before happily crashing onto the couch. I flipped it up, and saw the generic screen saver. After pushing some buttons, I opened up recent calls. The one call from earlier caught my eye. It wasn't saved under anyone's name.

Making sure that Dad and Uncle Dean were still asleep and Jo still absorbed in her research, I pressed the green talk button.

It rang for a few seconds. I was afraid someone wasn't going to answer because, well, it was two o'clock in the morning.

"This is Linda Lee of—"

I quickly slammed the phone shut. I couldn't believe it. That bitch was still calling Dad. I wonder if she was still bothering Bobby. Whatever was going on, I was definitely going to need to somehow stop it. There has to be a way to get her off our backs.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I hadn't slept at all. I just listened to Dad's and Uncle Dean's snores and Jo rustling around with her papers. It wasn't until quarter to six that Dad woke up.

"Coffee run?" Dad offered, once he realized that neither Jo nor I slept. Jo didn't argue, and I decided to go with him.

There wasn't much open at this time, just a twenty-four hour coffee place just down the street. Dad and I walked in silence, my brain trying to formulate a way to break the ice.

"Has that Linda Lee person called you recently?" I asked. It was perfect. It suggested that I didn't check out his phone last night. I was starting to get pretty good at this lying game thing.

Dad sighed, obviously still plagued by sleep. "It's fine, Liz," he said. "I have it under control."

I contemplated his words. I highly doubted that he had things under control. Under control would entail that she would've stopped calling. It makes me wonder if she was still calling Bobby's house, or if she even stopped by.

It was scary how much power she actually had over this family.

Once we got to the coffee place, we picked up a round of coffee for everyone. It wasn't until we got back to the apartment building that things got interesting.

There were a couple of uniformed officers standing around in the lobby, talking with a man I hadn't recognized and Ed, the owner of the complex. Nonchalantly, Dad waltzed over to the huddled men and asked the usual, "What's going on?"

Apparently, Teresa Ellis from apartment 2F was missing. But, that wasn't the only weird thing. There were also cracks in the plaster and, I quote, "weird, gunky stuff everywhere."

Once Dad was asked if he saw or heard anything, he said no and we headed back upstairs.

"Do you think it's the spirit?" I asked him, barely being able to keep up with his long strides up the stairs.

I nodded. "Or something."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Once we caught Uncle Dean and Jo up on what he had just heard, the case was starting to build that whatever it was—spirit or not—that it had to be coming from the walls.

"But the building's history's totally clean," Uncle Dean argued, as the four of us, yet again, delved into Jo's research.

Jo snagged up one of the many sepia photos that littered the table. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong place," she said. "Check this out."

I looked over Dad's shoulder at the picture. It honestly didn't look very important. It was just a bunch of buildings with the center of focus being an empty field. It didn't even look prevalent to this building.

"It's where this building was built," Jo added, as if it were as obvious as a unicorn at a rock concert. "Take a look at the one next door….The windows…"

The windows, to be honest, just look like black holes, as if someone just spray-painted them that way. "Bars," Dad muttered. And then it made sense.

"We're right next door to a prison," Uncle Dean said.

Instead of using the internet like we usually do, Jo called up the 1-800-Ash hotline to get information on this prison. She, of course, threatened to use pliers on a certain part of his anatomy if he breathed a word of this to Ellen.

"Moyamensing prison," Jo announced, holding up the picture, "it was built in 1835 and torn down in 1963. And get this: they used to execute prisoners by hanging them in the field next door."

"Well then," Dad said, "we'll need a list of everyone who was executed there."

Jo smiled smugly. "Ash is already on it. He should be sending an email—" A little _ba-ling_ came from Dad's laptop, "—now."

The four of us crowded around the little laptop as Dad scrolled through the 187 names of the executed. "We need to narrow that down," Uncle Dean said, "or else we'll be digging up a helluva a lotta stiffs."

Dad hovered the arrow over a particular name: Herman Webster Mudgett. I knew that name from somewhere.

"Wait, wasn't that H.H. Holmes's real name?" I asked, looking at Dad. He looked up at me, and I already knew the answer. I broke from our awkward circle and grabbed my laptop, but I didn't open a search engine. Instead, I got onto my school email where, sure enough, the project from two years ago was still on there.

"What the hell's that?" Uncle Dean asked from over my shoulder. I leaned back so he could get a better look at the powerpoint presentation.

"This," I announced, "is the project I had to do in sixth grade for H.H. Holmes, America's first serial killer."

"You had to do a project about a maniac?" Uncle Dean asked.

"I had an insane history teacher," I said, shuttering at the memory. "This probably should have everything you need to know about him including…" I scrolled through the slides until I got to one towards the end, "this."

Uncle Dean read over the slide pertaining to his execution at Moyamensing in May 7, 1896.

"Can you believe it?" Dad asked. "H.H. Holmes, himself. What at the odds?" If I had to guess, I would think he was in awe.

"Who is he," Jo asked, joining Uncle Dean in peering over my shoulder. Feeling like I was back in the classroom, dreading the moment my name would be picked to present next, I flipped through the slides, going over everything from memory.

"The term multi-murderer was coined to described Holmes," I said, clicking through one colorful slide after another. I'll admit it, I was quite proud of this project. "He was America's first serial killer before they even knew what a serial killer was."

"He confessed to twenty-seven murders," Dad added in, "but some say that he caused over a hundred."

"Excuse me, who did the A-worthy project on this man?" I asked Dad.

"It says it right on this slide."

"Shut up," I said. "But, his flavor of choice," I clicked dramatically, "pretty, petite blondes." The next slide was a picture of Britney Spears. I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself at the time. "He used chloroform to kill them." Another click and there were cartoon-y xs over her eyes and a picture of a bottle of chloroform appeared next to her.

"That's…that's nice, Liz," Dad said, not sounding overly pleased.

"What? So, I had fun with clip art. Big deal. I got extra points for creativity."

"Wait…I smelled that in the hall last night," Uncle Dean chimed in, ignoring the little tiff that Dad and I started.

A clicked a couple of times until I got to the next slide. "At his home, police found human remains: bone fragments, long locks of bloody blonde hair." I tore my eyes off the screen to look at the evidence Jo and Uncle Dean found, still on the same paper towel from last night.

Uncle Dean looked over at Jo. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

"Well, we'll just salt and burn the bones, right?"

"Usually," I said, "but, he is buried in town, just in…a couple tons of concrete."

"What? Why?"

"The story goes that he didn't want anybody mutilating his corpse," I continued, exiting out of the presentation.

"You know," Dad added, "we might have a bigger problem than this."

Jo scuffed. "How can this can any bigger?"

"Holmes built an apartment building in Chicago," Dad turned his laptop around to show his own research. "It was called the murder castle. The whole place was a death factory. It's got trap doors and acid traps and lime pits. He built these secret chambers inside the walls. He'd lock his victims in, keep them alive for days. Some of them suffocated…others, he let starve to death."

"So Teresa could still be alive," Jo said. "She could be inside these walls."

"We need crowbars, sledge hammers—we need to tear down any wall thick enough to hide a person in."

If there was time to argue, I think Dad and Uncle Dean would've insisted that Jo and I get the hell out of dodge. Of course, we were split back up into our groups like before: Jo and Uncle Dean taking the upper floors, and Dad and I taking the lower ones.

Naturally, Dad and I didn't find anything. Of course, if he had allowed me to delve deeper like I wanted to, I might have found something.

We were about to head up to where Uncle Dean and Jo were, but that's when we heard screaming. Not that I ever heard her, but I was pretty sure that it was Jo. We ran faster up the stairs, panic rising up within me.

Dad and Uncle Dean crashed, the three of us coming to a halt. Uncle Dean confirmed that the screaming was indeed Jo. We all ran back into the apartment in an attempt to figure out where in this complex that Jo may be. As Dad began going over blueprints of the building, Uncle Dean got a call from Ellen. I could only hear one side of the conversation, but from what I can gather, Ash folded like a bad poker hand, and Uncle Dean promised her that we would get Jo back.

Oh, and something about her being on the next flight out here.

"So, I think that she might be in the abandoned sewer system under—"

"Let's go," Uncle Dean said, already locked and loaded to start kicking H.H. Holmes afterlife ass. With a combination of Jo being kidnapped and Ellen's comments, Uncle Dean was on edge.

The three of us started heading out of the apartment when Dad stopped me. "You aren't coming."

"What? Why?"

"Right now, I need you to go out of the apartment building." He shoved a handful of money in my hands. "You are going to go wait for Ellen at the airport. No ifs, ands, or buts about it."

"But—"

"NOW!"

Without another word, Dad and Uncle Dean rushed out of the apartment. I just stood in their wake for a fraction of a minute before saying, "Like hell I am."


	18. Blonde

_Author's Note: I'm sorry about the lateness of this update. I have been camping for the last couple of weeks and there wasn't any Wi-Fi. :C But, I'm back (and should be back for a while)._

**Chapter XVIII - Blonde**

Using what Uncle Dean told Dad, I figured out the place where Jo disappeared. I was tiny enough to squeeze myself between the walls. I walked—well, more like shuffled towards the duct system, the one Uncle Dean described that Jo was about to go down. I placed the tiny flashlight in my mouth and shimmied down into the hole. The metallic taste in my mouth made me want to vomit.

I have always imagined what it would be like to be James Bond, crawling through the air duct system like a boss. Of course, this was no Casino Royale, nor was it an actual air duct system. It just seemed like a weird brick maze—more like a sick game of Pac-Man.

And in this game, I had no chance of nomming on the ghosts…or even a strawberry.

Trying to navigate my way through the twists and turns reminded me of the time I went camping for Girl Scouts—the only time, actually. It was seven girls, all about eight or nine years old, and one scout leader or master or whatever you want to call her. We were on some piece of property owned by one of the richer scouts's grandfather. Going there, we were fine. We just found a good place to set up camp for the night. The next day was when things had gotten interesting.

We were all packed up and ready to go. The leader/master/whatever took the lead and started taking us in the direction she thought was the main drag. She had a fancy GPS thing, but it must have been malfunctioning, because we passed by the same fallen tree at least five times before someone pointed out that we were going in circles.

The tentative time we were supposed to be back was by three in the afternoon. It was well passed sunset by the time we made it back to the rich scouts's grandfather's house. Let's just say, none of the parents were very happy.

But that was the worst feeling I had ever had—pre-yellow-eyes, that is. The feeling of being trapped without having an obvious way out made my very skin crawl. That was one of the many reasons why I quit Girl Scouts. I was not going to have that feeling of dread mixed with anxiety mixed with a bunch of other crappy emotions.

And then, this life came along, and that's how I feel pretty much twenty-four seven.

So, with so few options, I grabbed a compass out of my bag. It was part of my dad's things-you-must-have survival kit. It was right next to the band-aids and rape whistle.

_When in doubt, go north_. I'm not sure who said it, or if I had just made it up in my own head, but that just sounded like a good thing to do. So, I shuffled around until I figured out north, and then decided to head that way.

It all worked out in the end. I found another hole, and I went down it. This time, it opened up into an odd cavern. The stone walls were damp and it smelled strongly of mildew. I had to suppress the nausea that rose up from the pit in my stomach.

Quickly, I pulled the flashlight out of my mouth. I looked around the cavern. I heard some heavy breathing. Following towards the sound, I called out, "Jo?"

"Liz?" a weak voice called back. I grunted a yeah as I leaned down and peered through a tiny hole where her cage was. "Are Dean and Sam with you?"

"Sorry, hun, it's just me to your rescue," I said, digging through my bag.

"Watch out! That son of a—" I was just about to pull out my lock picking kit when something blunt hit me over the head. I sprawled out on the ground, my head feeling like it was being torn in two. The white-hot searing pain blinded me for a moment. When the spots stopped dancing, I saw a scraggly man reaching into Jo's cage.

"Goddamn it," I shouted, scrambling to grab my shotgun. In a flash, I had it pointed, cocked, and I fired at the spirit. He flew away from the cage, and fizzled out of view.

"What the hell is going on down there?" I heard Uncle Dean's voice. I turned sharply around to see him and my dad crawling down some sort of tunnel. I was so happy to see them…at least, until I saw Dad's pissed face, and I knew that I was in some deep trouble.

"We gotta get Jo out," I said. Uncle Dean kicked the grate off its rusted hinges. His jaw was tight, but his other facial features showed no other emotion. He was in serious-mode. It reminded me a lot of Grandpa when he was in the zone.

That's when I noticed that the other cage across from Jo's was occupied. The woman inside was screaming for help. Giving me one last stink-eye, Dad rushed over to her, saying that they were here to rescue.

I'm guessing that woman must be Teresa.

Uncle Dean jimmied Jo out, and tossed the rod he had used to Dad to get Teresa out. I helped Uncle Dean lift open the steel door. It definitely was a heavy sucker.

"Are you okay?" Uncle Dean asked. Jo rolled out of the cage and onto the floor. I leaned down to help land softer. I don't think I did much.

"I've been better," she shouted, holding back a coughing fit. Her hair was sopping from sweat, and she was panting like she had just run the Boston Marathon. Her clothes were damp from a combination of condensation and her own sweat. That's when I realized how bloody hot it was done here. "Let's just get the hell outta here before he comes back."

Jo and I stood back up. I didn't dare look over at Dad and Teresa. If I wasn't already on his shit list, I was definitely on top by now. "Actually," Uncle Dean said, with a slight shrug in his shoulders. "I don't think you're leaving here just yet."

"What?" Jo and I asked at the same time. I thought the plan was Operation Get Jo the Frick Out. Not Operation Get Jo the Frick Out and Then Some.

"Remember when I said that you being bait was a bad plan," Uncle Dean asked. Jo simply nodded. "Now it's kinda the only plan we got."

"But," Dad chimed in, "if it helps, you won't be alone?"

Uncle Dean joined Jo and I in our chorus of whats.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"What I'm bothered most by this situation is how Dean just happen to have a random blonde wig with him," I said as Jo and I sat back to back on the damp, stone floor.

Dad's oh-so brilliant addition to the plan was putting a wig on me to be bait along with Jo. His reasoning is that if I was so willing to put my neck on the line that I might as well sit around waiting for the bastard to come. Okay, he worded it differently than that, but that's pretty much the gist of the situation. I'm pretty sure that H.H. Holmes would be able to tell if I was a natural blonde or not (it wasn't the best quality wig).

"Shut up, Liz," Dad said, from his and Uncle Dean's perch in the hidden tunnel. "He won't come if you keep talking." His voice was laced with venom. He was still pissed at me. This whole situation just confirmed how high up on the list I was. I was at least number four.

"And, by the way, some chick left in my motel room one time," Uncle Dean defended. "Cancer patient or something."

"Would the three of you just shut the fuck up!" Jo shouted, her nerves obviously fried. The three of us obeyed her command and, yet again, we just waited. And waited. And waited. I was beginning to think that Holmes was never going to appear when I saw the shadowy figure appear in my periphery.

I tensed up, but remained in place. I kept my eyes focused at the wall in front of me. But I still kept tabs on him. He inched closer, a wicked—no, _hungry_—smile was on his face. I'm guessing he wasn't minding how I wasn't a real blonde, unless he didn't notice.

He was practically on top of us when Uncle Dean shouted, "NOW!" Gun shots fired. Salt poured from delicately placed bags around the circular room. Jo and I threw ourselves towards our only means of escape. Uncle Dean pulled Jo in, and Dad was about to do the same with me when Holmes grabbed my ankle. Holmes kept tugging at my leg, but Dad kept a strong grip on my arms. I'd like to say that I wasn't screaming, that I was completely cool and calm throughout the squabble…but I would be lying. I was freaking out.

Holmes was gross, what can I say?

Finally, I kicked my way out of Holmes's grip. I was pulled into the safety of the tunnel. Jo shouted obscenities at him as Holmes danced around the room, freaking out about being trapped within the sodium chloride prison.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I was subjected to the back of the Impala, with my messenger bag locked safely away in the trunk. The only thing I could do was count how many cars passed by (105, not counting buses) while Dad, Uncle Dean, and Jo took care of H.H. Holmes once and for all. I heard something about a cement truck.

"WHERE ARE THEY?"

The question literally scared the crap right outta me. Ellen was leaning through the open windows. If I thought Dad's stink-eye was scary, his was like an innocent kitten compared to hers. The devil himself would tremble in fear.

Unable to speak, I just pointed in the general direction of the sewer entrance Dad and Uncle Dean found. She stormed off, muttering a few choice words about what she was going to do to them.

Why spare me, I have no idea.

The next few hours were just one long blur of Ellen and Jo yelling, Dad and Uncle Dean complying, and me just sitting there like a reject. But, as we headed out of Pennsylvania towards Nebraska, it stifled into thick silence. I sat between Dad and Jo in the back, while Uncle Dean drove and Ellen sat in the passenger seat. It was the safest arrangement, since it put Ellen and Jo on opposite corners of the car.

We were somewhere near the Indiana-Illinois border when Uncle Dean broke the silence. "I guess you weren't kidding about flying out."

Ellen just looked ahead, not even acknowledging Uncle Dean. He attempted to play some tunes, but when Mick Jones sang, "You're as cold as ice," Ellen turned it off. Sighing, Uncle Dean added a little more pressure to the gas and said, "This is going to be a long trip."

And a long trip it was. It wasn't until late afternoon the next day that we made it to the roadhouse. Uncle Dean barely had it in park before Ellen was out of the car, and dragging Jo along with her. Dad and Uncle Dean followed after them. I went after. No one told me to stay in the car this time, and what's another infraction added to my ever-lengthening list of crap I have done.

Of course, I wish I had stayed in the Impala. Uncle Dean tried to…I don't know what he tried to do, honestly. Make Jo's punishment lighter. I'm not sure. He simply stated that Jo did well, and that her father would be damn proud of her.

That last part struck a very nasty cord with Ellen. Somehow, her eyes looked angrier—crazier. "Never say that again," she stated, her voice venom. "Especially coming from you. I need a moment with my daughter….ALONE!"

Without much hesitancy, the three of us walked out of the roadhouse. As we headed towards the Impala, Dad gripped my shoulder tight. With Jo and Ellen busy with their own problems, I have a feeling that Dad might chew me out relentlessly.

Uncle Dean walked around the barren landscape while Dad dragged me to the Impala. He forced me to sit on the hood, and I willingly obeyed. Probably the first command I have obeyed since he left me at the roadhouse. It was barely two days ago, but it seemed so much longer than that.

"I'm disappointed," Dad said, his wording blunt and to the point. "It seemed like every step of the way, you find a way to do the exact opposite of what I asked. I tell you to get out of the building—instead, you go looking for trouble." He sighed deeply before continuing on. "But, I guess a lot of it is my fault. I mean, I forced you to be bait along with Jo."

"It's not your fault," I muttered. I was sick of fighting. "Okay, so maybe flying out with Jo was a form of teenage rebellion, but everything else was…was a need to prove something."

Dad was taken aback by my words. "What in the hell do you need to prove?"

"That I'm...part of the team." Not the best wording, but it was a start. "You and Uncle Dean are constantly saving lives, and you order me to stay either in the motel room or the Impala most of the time. I feel like I'm a burden to you guys."

"I didn't even go on my first hunt until I was fourteen." Dad looked lost in some distant memory. "Even then it was a straight forward salt-and-burn. But, it went sour, since nothing is straight forward in our lives." He chuckled at his own joke. I cracked a smile. "But you have seen more in just a year than I had before I came back into this life."

"You aren't a burden to us. Hell, you've saved our skin plenty of times." Dad looked me straight in the eye. "You saved your grandpa's…..You saved me from myself."

My jaw dropped. "Um…how did I do that?"

"Just by being here," Dad said. I felt this moment go from sappy to sappier—it might actually break the sappiest point. Oddly, I didn't mind. I felt like that there was some major air that needed to be cleared—by both parties involved. "When your mom died, I didn't think I could go on. All I had was revenge on my mind. But you just being here with me has helped me see that there is more to this."

I was about to say something, but Jo crashed out the door and stomped down the stairs. Dean stopped wandering and approached her. She just shoved past him. I couldn't hear what she was saying to him.

I blinked, and the scene around me changed. The colors—auras—appeared in my vision like stars. Jo's was pure red with anger. It kept itself separated from Uncle Dean's, which was a mixture of red, pink, and gray. It looked as if the red and pink tried to join Jo's, but it wouldn't allow—constantly morphing away from Uncle Dean's.

Most likely, I will never know what was said between them. But as Jo and her aura walked away from his, Uncle Dean's went completely gray with a twinge of black.


	19. Interrogation

**Chapter XIX – Interrogation**

So, technically speaking, I wasn't arrested. They just dragged Dad and me to the precinct where they were holding Uncle Dean. I actually had no clue what was going on at the time. I was stuck in the motel room, channel surfing through primetime television when Dad came barging in. Moments later, the SWAT team and various other cops came crashing through the door.

I may not have been formally arrested, but it sure felt like it. I sat in a dreary, brick room with only a table, red lettering warning against smoking and spitting, and a one-way mirror right in front of me. I have seen enough cop shows to know that there were people watching me like an animal in a zoo. I felt like an animal in the zoo.

To be honest, I was freaking out. I had no clue what was going with Dad or Uncle Dean—if I was even going to see them again. I felt alone and useless—trapped.

It's hard to tell what time it was. There was a window, but the blinds were down, blocking out most of the sunlight. My arms propped up my head on the table, and I felt exhausted. Not necessarily tired, just…_exhausted_. That's the only way I can describe it.

Some blonde lady came in a few minutes later. I felt like jumping off the walls at this point. I needed to move, but I sat in the chair, trying not to give anything that I felt away.

"How are you today?" she asked. In one hand, she held a file folder. In the other was a generic foam cup and lid. She placed the cup down in front of me. "I figured you might be thirsty." Despite how much I wanted it to be, I was pretty sure it wasn't coffee.

Cautiously, I waved the cup in front of my nose; the way my science teachers explained we should smell unknown substances. Sure enough, it was hot chocolate. It smelled weak, too.

"I've been better," I said, putting the cup down without taking a drink. I know that she was just some regular cop, but I still didn't trust the drink. I wasn't thirsty enough to accept anything from this woman.

She sat down across from me, placing the file directly in front of her. I briefly saw the name on the file. In terrible penmanship, it said "Mary E. Winchester." She looked me directly in the eye and said, "You are not in trouble. I want to make that clear from the start."

"Shouldn't my dad be here?" I asked. "As a minor, I don't have to say anything without a parent or guardian present."

"Well, since you aren't under arrest for anything, you'll be fine. We're just…worried."

That surprised me. "About what?"

"About your situation. I mean, it is certainly not the healthiest."

"What are you implying?"

The woman opened up the file. As I leaned over to get a better look, she held it up like an elementary school teacher reading a book. "You're name is Mary Elizabeth Winchester, born July 31, 1992 at Palo Alto General. You have no siblings, and are currently homeschooled through an online program." She flipped through a few pages before continuing. "The address your father used to sign you up for the program is nonexistent, but he does have a post office box located in Kansas that they send mail to." She looked up at me. "You can chime in any time you like."

"No, please, go on. You seem to know my life better than I do." I didn't know the last part about what he used for homeschooling. It was just one of those things I actually didn't ask questions about.

"A year ago, your mother died in an apartment fire. Then you and your dad seem to fall off the grid with no legit home address, no job on record, and you aren't up-to-date on your shots."

The mere mention of my mother made my heart ache. But, I remained impassive. "My dad thought it was best to get away from Palo Alto," I said, kind of making it up as I went along. Some of it was cover stories the three of us conspire when we think we just might need one. "He signed me up for the online homeschooling program and we are on just one long road trip with my uncle."

"It's an interesting situation, don't you think?" she asked, closing the file and placing it down in front of her. "You without a real home, going across the country with your father and his brother?"

"I thought you considered it unhealthy."

"Can't something be interesting and unhealthy at the same time?"

"I guess if you're talking about McDonald's."

The woman paused for a moment. "You're real witty, aren't you Mary?"

"It's Liz."

"Pardon?"

"I go by Liz," I explained, "since my middle name is Elizabeth—which I am sure you already know since you seem to know the last time I took a math test."

"Last week actually," she said, reopening the file and rifling through some pages. "You got a 72-percent on it."

I frowned. "Well, there goes my perfect B-average."

"Listen," she said, putting the file back down. "I'm here just to get a little more information. You see, we have your uncle charged with possible murder and many other counts."

"And, let me guess, you want me to turn on my own uncle."

"We already caught him red handed at the Karen Giles murder scene," she said. "We just need you to fill in the blanks."

"I don't know anything," I said. "Most of the time, I'm stuck in the motel room working on homework or playing a riveting game of _Pokémon_. I have no clue why Uncle Dean was there. They rarely tell me anything." Dammit! I shouldn't have said that. That really makes them look suspicious. No it doesn't, I tried to persuade myself. There are plenty of things that children are left in the dark about.

"So, are you saying that, since you have been in town, you have been in that motel room the entire time?"

"Not the entire time," I said, disproving her exaggeration. "Once in a while I come out of the recesses to get some food, water, and sunlight."

"How do you know Tony and Karen Giles?"

I shrugged. "Tony was the reason why we were in town. He was an old Marine buddy of my grandpa's. When they heard about his death, they wanted to be there for Karen."

Vague, but believable, and not too much information that it makes it seem too planned out. The perfect recipe for a lie.

"So, did you ever come in contact with Karen at all?"

I shook my head. "I was puking my guts out," I said. Another good lie is to make yourself look bad. No one suspects you to make yourself look bad if it isn't the truth. "Bad diner food or something."

In reality, I was dancing around the motel room, listening to "Good Morning, Baltimore" from _Hairspray _as loudly as I dared, and debating whether I could get away with ordering a pay-per-view movie. Let's just say, Dad might freak a little when he sees the bill. Which, in all actuality, he shouldn't—freak out, I mean. It's not his credit card we were using anyway.

Oh god, what if they figure out the credit card fraud?

It's probably too little too late to worry about that one.

"So, do you know where they went after their visit with Karen?"

I shook my head. "My dad just sent me a text saying that they'll be late." Truth: He sent me one saying that they were investigating Tony Giles's office. "And that, if I felt up to it, that there was some leftover pizza in the fridge." Truth: There was no leftover pizza. I had to get dinner myself. I did have a pizza delivered, though.

"He wasn't even considerate at all that you felt ill?" the woman wrongfully accused.

"Of course he was!" I defended. He would be, if I was actually sick. "But he had other things to worry about right then."

"Like what?"

"Like helping out a late friend's wife when she needed it," I said. "Besides, I'm thirteen. I think I know how to upchuck in a toilet without help, thank you very much." I know I sounded like a bitch just then, but she was dishing it out. I was testing if she could serve it.

Okay, I don't think that made much sense.

"You also look good," the woman said, which made me raise my eyes brows, "considering you were puking your guts out twelve hours ago."

"I got over it," I said. "Maybe the leftover pizza helped." Bringing things full circle—also helpful.

"What did your dad say when he got back to the motel room?"

And this is where things go south. "He came in," I said, pulling something out of my ass, "alone, obviously. I asked him where Uncle Dean was. And, before he could answer, you guys full-on _Law and Order_'d the place."

I was kind of hoping this woman would start singing the "understandable" part of "We Both Reached for the Gun" from _Chicago_. And then Richard Gere comes in as my lawyer and gets the three of us out with his stunning singing voice.

Of course, that never happened. The woman simply announced that she got everything she needed, and left the room—leaving me and the cold hot chocolate alone.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

If there was ever a time in my life where I absolutely _needed_ to mind-rape either Dad or Uncle Dean, it would be right here and now.

I haven't seen hide nor hair of a single person in well over three hours. I felt like tearing down the entire place just to get out. My legs wouldn't sit still, but I refused to stand up. It was as if fear was gluing me to the seat.

I already hummed through my entire memorized repertoire of music, including some mullet rock that Uncle Dean introduced me to. I kept my voice quiet, so to the police officers obviously behind the one-way mirror couldn't hear me.

The door opened. I expected the woman interrogator to come back in, or at least another cop. Instead, it was the last person in the world that I expected to see—and the last one I wanted to see.

"Good afternoon, Mary," Linda Lee said, smiling maniacally.

I gripped the edge of the table, my fingers instantly turning white. I just gaped at her as she sat down across from me. She placed her briefcase on the table next to her and opened up.

"My, we haven't seen each other in _ages_," she said, rifling through the various pockets. "I'm just wondering how you have been."

I couldn't say anything. Sitting right in front of me was possibly the only person without preternatural powers that could take me away from Dad and Uncle Dean. I figured that Uncle Dean and Dad would find a way out of this, and then we would be home free. But, right now, that sounded as possible as a cat from outer space. Simply being around this woman made me physically sick to my stomach.

When I didn't produce an answer, Lee continued. "It probably seems really unlikely that I am here right now." Actually, I hadn't thought about that. I was still in the freaked out stage where my mind is a jumbled-up mess. "The moment you were taken into police custody, I got on a plane and came right over. I had an alert out for you. I have been to the address your father left for me, and it looked like someone lived there, but no one was ever home. I was actually just about to get police involved when I was notified."

I could barely follow what this woman was saying. I was still hung-up on the fact that she was actually here!

"If all the paperwork is in order," Lee said, turning in her seat. That's when I noticed that the woman from earlier was there. I couldn't tell if she came in with Lee, or if she had came in just seconds ago. "I'd like to transfer custody from the police in social service's hands."

"_What_?" I shrieked, my voice finally working.

"It's all in order," the woman confirmed. "You can leave anytime. We'll contact you if we need something from her."

The woman briskly left. Lee turned back to me with another milk-curdling smile. "Don't worry. You're going to be in safe hands."


	20. Chloroform

_Author's Note: Sorry about the lateness. Things have been crazy on my end and I have a feeling they're only going to get crazier :P_

**Chapter XX - Chloroform**

Since my mom's death, the open road became my home—despite what that crazy bitch back in the precinct thought. But now, I'm with another bitch in the backseat of her Buick LaSabre, the open road became my own personal hell.

_Does my dad even know?_ I wondered as Linda Lee turned onto the interstate. I left so abruptly that I didn't even get a chance to see him. How was he going to react when he finds out that his daughter was taken by the very woman we seemed to be running from?

"You're awfully quiet," Lee commented, putting on cruise control so she went a whooping sixty-eight miles down the interstate. Uncle Dean went faster than that on back roads. Great, just the mere thought of him multiplied my worry. _Is he going to get out?_

I didn't reply. I had no reply. If I opened my mouth, I might actually vomit.

"You'll see, sweetheart," she said, placing a "comforting" hand on my knee. I quickly inched away from it. "You'll never have to be on the run again."

"We were never on the run," I said, my voice finally deciding to work. Although, the nausea was still ever-present. "Only from _you_." Okay, it wasn't going to be making any comeback of the year awards, but it was better than just stewing in silence.

Lee sighed. "One day, you will see what I have done, and you will be thanking me."

"I'll be thankful when you're burning in hell."

She said nothing. In her line of work, she was probably used to empty threats. Of course, with Dad and Uncle Dean, that threat is far from empty….If that makes any sense.

But, for the meantime, I had to get a grip. Dad and Uncle Dean had their own craziness to deal with. I can handle Linda Lee from Social Services. I should be able to handle this situation. I've taken on shapeshifters (okay, that didn't go so well), ghosts (even worse), and, vampires (well, okay, not really). So, in reality, taking on this bitch should be a piece of cake.

I couldn't tell how much time had actually passed. There was no clock on the dash, my cell phone was taken from me back at the precinct, and it had clouded over so there was no chance of checking the sun. When we passed a billboard that announced that we were crossing into Kentucky, Lee pulled off onto the nearest exit ramp. I didn't even catch the name of the town.

But it didn't matter. Lee just drove right on through it. She continued along the country highway, daddling along like she was on the express way—a good ten miles below the speed limit. It was pretty annoying. She was definitely going nowhere fast.

The sky steadily grew darker. Nightfall was upon us, and the nagging feeling in my head made itself known quite clearly. I needed to get away from this woman, as soon as possible.

Knowing fully well that it was suicide, I tried opening the door. The handle moved, but the door remained locked. I even checked the lock. It was up. Next to it was a warning about child safety locks. Let me just say that, in my head, I called Lee everything but a nice person. I thought of words that would even make hunters cringe.

Okay, well, at least my father.

Lee pulled off the main drag, and headed down a two-track. We headed deeper into the woods. Trees seemed to be hugging the Buick. With the darkness and shadows, it looked like the beginning of a horror movie—it felt like the beginning…

"Um…where are we going?"

"You'll see."

I did not like the sound of that.

The two-track ended in front of a run-down cabin. Even Extreme Make-Over would have their work cut out for them on this one. The windows were covered in dirt and grime, I'm pretty sure that the wood was infested with termites, and that the man standing in front of the door was going to kill me.

You know those annoying people in horror movies who try a failed escape route over and over again, expecting a completely different outcome each time. Well, that's how I felt when I futilely pulled at the door handle, trying to get out—expecting the door to just open by magic or maybe the gremlins would let me out or _something_.

"What are you so worried about?" Lee asked, looking back at me after she put the Buick in park. "We're just in the middle of a pit-stop."

I knew there was more to this when the man who was standing on the front porch began heading our way. I relentlessly pulled at the handle. My eyes darted between the man approaching and the door handle.

The man was right next to the door now. In one last futile attempt to bid my time, I shuffled over to the other side of the backseat. I gave one more attempt at the door handle. This one also had the child safety locks on. But, it didn't matter. I kept pulling at them anyway.

"Drug her?" the man said, his voice stifled from being outside of the car.

"Maybe I should have done that before this," Lee suggested, rustling around in the front seat.

"NO!" I shouted, really not liking the sound of that. When I saw Lee turning around in her seat, a damp rag in her hand, I grabbed her arm in an attempt to stop her. She struggled. I struggled. I tried kicking her arm away from me, but it was useless.

Lee put the rag to my mouth. I tried to pry her hands off me, but they wouldn't budge. My last thought before falling into the dark abyss: was this _chloroform_?

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I had a huge headache when I finally came to. It felt like someone tried to open my skull with a jackhammer, and then attempted to close the wound with a staple gun.

The first thing I saw when I blinked open my eyes was Lee's pleased grin. "Look who's finally awake."

That's when I remembered the deep shit I was in.

I struggled to stand—to _move_—but I was tied (very tightly) to a wooden chair—a rope around my wrist, another around my waist, and a finally one wrapped around my ankles. They removed the zip-up jacket I was wearing, and my boots in an attempt to disarm me even though the police patted me down before they sent me into confinement. I guess these two were not fooling around.

Speaking of two—where is Lee's little lackey? In the dim room void of any furniture, it was just the two of us.

"Now, I hope you learned your lesson," she cooed. "Misbehave again, and I'll just have to chloroform you…again."

"Piss off!" I shouted. For full effect, I wanted to spit on her, but my mouth was really dry.

"Now, is such language really necessary?"

"That's rich coming from the woman who kidnapped me."

"Why, I didn't kidnap you," she stated. "According to the state, you're in my custody. So, I suggest you look up the facts before you start pointing fingers."

"Well, if this isn't kidnapping, then it sure as hell is child abuse."

She leaned in real close to me. I could smell her breath. It was a mixture of stall coffee breath and something much, _much_ worse. It made me want to hurl.

"Only if I get caught."

Just then, Lee's lackey came in. "He's on his way. He has a job to finish up in Phoenix, then he'll be here."

"Hmm, that could be five minutes, or five hours depending on how the parents…react."

"What are you talking about?"

The lackey shrugged, ignoring me. "I'm just telling you what he told me."

"Who are you talking about?"

"Did you by any chance ask him what we should do with the girl until then?"

"Just hang tight, I guess."

Lee growled. "Ack! Why do I always get the incompetent demons to work with?"

"Incompetent, eh? It was my idea to drug her. If it were up to you, we'd still be fighting trying to get her in here."

"Wait…_demons_!"

The two of them looked in my direction.

"Give the girl a prize," Lee shouted. "She figured it out!"

"But…but why—"

"Didn't we get you sooner?" Lee finished before I could ask. I knew where this was going. Cue evildoer monologue. Every villain in entertainment has done one, why not this bitch? "It was a last-minute plan actually. See, I haven't possessed Linda Lee the _entire _time. She was there at the hospital in an attempt to check on a silly little girl who showed signs of abuse. She kept up the search for a while. But then she gave up. Until she saw your name come up on the Baltimore Police Department's database.

"It was then that I got the idea to possess her and do things, shall I say, the _mundane_ way. I went to Baltimore, went through all the hoops to get you safely in my hands. That stupid woman had no idea what I was."

"Seriously?" I said. "That's it? What? You didn't try to, I dunno, kidnap me the multiple times I was alone in either the Impala or a run-down motel room?"

"Like we could even get within three feet of you," she said. "The way your father and uncle protect that car and wherever you all are staying. It's also hard to pinpoint exactly where the three of you are, since your home is the open road."

"Are you really trying to justify our actions with a Winchester?" the lackey demanded. "As far as she knows, her life is over."

"Oh, you know how I like to talk," Lee mused. "Why don't you make yourself useful and keep an eye out for Master."

After one final glare, the lackey left. Lee turned back to me and said, "Now…where was I?"

"Is there seriously more to this story?" I asked her.

"Well, you asked."

"Regrettably."

Lee pursed her lips. "You know, I'm really sick of your attitude."

"It's a Winchester trademark: go for the sarcasm to mess with the monsters."

"You think you are all that, don't you?"

"I think I'm something."

Lee chuckled. "You're playing with fire here, Mary Elizabeth Winchester. And pretty soon, you and you're family are going to get burned."

With the clanking of her heels against the hardwood, she left, leaving me alone in the foreboding, musty room.

Not wanting to stick around, I began to wiggle my wrists out of the rope. I felt the beginnings of rope burn, but I pushed on. I had bigger things to worry about right now.

Like getting out of here before the yellow-eyed demon comes.

Well, Lee and the lackey didn't full-out say that he was coming, but it was obvious by the way they were talking. I felt bad for the family that was going to inevitably fall apart because of that bastard.

Slowly—too slowly—the binds on my wrists began to weaken. My wrists were scraped raw by the time the ropes fell to the floor. I didn't dare look at them.

It didn't take long to untie the ropes from my waist and ankles. I guess years of entertaining myself in class by tying complicated knots and seeing if I can untie them again has really paid off.

I slowly stood up, joints cracking and skin burning. I really had nothing going for me right now. I had no weapons, no means of trapping the demons—the only thing I had going for me was the fact that they couldn't mentally throw me against the wall.

The odds still aren't in my favor.

I stepped out into the hall. I saw Lee and the lackey lounging on sheet-covered furniture in the living room. The two of them stared at the door that lead to the outside, expecting the yellow-eyed demon to suddenly appear. I knew my window of opportunity was less then slim, so I was going to have to be quick and quiet about this.

There was absolutely nothing to work with in the room that I was tied up in, as well as the room adjacent to it. The kitchen was too close to the living room to search, which only left the bathroom.

I rummaged through the cabinets. I found musty towels, ancient cleaning supplies, and even older hygiene products including a couple tubes of toothpaste.

A small smile toyed on my lips.


End file.
